<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Separate the Old Life From the New by DarkTidings</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195425">Separate the Old Life From the New</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkTidings/pseuds/DarkTidings'>DarkTidings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Grenade Moment [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Character of Color, F/M, Families of Choice, Good Sibling Merle Dixon, Hunters &amp; Hunting, Merle Dixon Lives, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Character of Color, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Racist Language, Rare Pairings, Redemption, Strong Female Characters, Survival Training, Unplanned Pregnancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:41:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>45,479</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195425</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkTidings/pseuds/DarkTidings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dixon brothers don't make it to the quarry, instead arriving at the Atlanta Refugee Center before it falls. They exit the city with Michonne and Andre, a partnership that makes both Dixons have to reevaluate past upbringing and Merle's racist ties.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daryl Dixon/Michonne, Merle Dixon/Juanita "Princess" Sanchez</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Grenade Moment [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>134</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Refugees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the last story that will drop into active production until others close out to allow their sequels (if any) to take their spots.  Planned rotation is every 7-14 days between updates.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>June 1, 2010</b>
  </span>
</p><p>Although Mike disagreed and argued about taking advantage of the government run camp, he finally gave in when a run to the grocery store yielded minimal supplies and a close encounter for Terry with the building superintendent turned dead man walking.  Michonne knew he would cave eventually, so she is already packed.  Everything she needs for Andre is easier than providing for three adults.</p><p>Electricity is already unreliable, the city getting brownouts that she thinks will only get worse.  If enough of the city workers who know how to keep infrastructure working are sick or flee, there's no one for maintenance. It isn't like receptionist work where someone can be quickly trained as a replacement.</p><p>They get the car loaded easily and navigate the mess that traffic has become by virtue of Michonne being a native of Atlanta.  She learned to drive here, and disaster isn't that different from rush hour.  The Guardsman looks impossibly young as he uses his glow in the dark wands to motion her to a place to park in the big open field next to the heavily fenced high school turned Refugee Center.</p><p>The flyer thrust in the window says to take all necessities with them, so Michonne makes sure she has hers and Andre's bag lest the men forget it.  Her own changes of clothes consist of multiple pairs of underwear and a backup pair of pants. She'll just rotate the two extra shirts as she can.  The space was better reserved for Andre's things, although she has her katana wrapped in towels and buried in hopes no one will search thoroughly.</p><p>Once inside, they're separated by gender for examination for bites.  They let her keep the boy with her, at least, and it isn't a full strip search for either of them.  Like the young man in military gear outside, the woman conducting Michonne's exam looks like she's nineteen if she's a day.  Perhaps the older Guardsmen are out on the city checkpoints, leaving only the lowest ranking for camp tasks.</p><p>"Here's your vouchers, IDs, and a padlock for your footlocker," the little blonde rattles off.  "You'll need his ID to get hot food for him if you don't take him with you.  The lines get long, so I only recommend it if you have no choice."</p><p>The girl hands her a carelessly stapled packet of papers.  "These are the rules of the camp.  Most are pretty common sense, but we have expelled people already for violating them.  If you have any questions, look for the tent with the information banner near the mess tent.  It's all on the map."</p><p>As Michonne emerges from the draped cubicle so the next woman can be helped, she follows the signs to the exit.  Since she doesn't see Mike or Terry yet, she glances over the papers, speed reading as she's used to doing at work.  It reveals they're in the overflow area, all indoor accommodations already assigned.  On the laminated ID, she sees the designated area listed as the same for hers and Andre's both.  It reminds her a little of a concert ticket.</p><p>Mike is the first to reappear, and he looks disgruntled.  "No call to make a man strip to his undershorts."</p><p>"Would you rather they let a bitten person in?" Hell, Michonne thinks she might approve of full cavity searches for the first time in her life if it keeps that disease outside these fences and away from her son.</p><p>Terry stumbles out, looking equally miffed, and Michonne resists the urge to roll her eyes.  The machismo of the pair is almost a stink on their skin right now. With Andre in the carrier on her back, she leads them toward the big bulletin board that seems to have a map tacked to it.  Consulting her ID card, she locates the area they need to go to.  </p><p>"Are y'all in the same area?" she asks.  They all checked in as a family group, but she wouldn't be surprised if the bureaucracy separated them somehow.  But just like concert tickets, they have successive numbers.</p><p>As usual, it falls to her to lead the way.  Michonne puts on her best imperious lawyer look and takes delight that it works here as well as any courthouse.  Even grown men melt out of her way.  It's too bad Mike and Terry are immune.</p><p>Their designated area turns out to be a huge Army tent like she's seen in television that troops share in overseas bases in areas they're fighting wars.  Inside, the reason for the letter and number combination on the IDs becomes clear.  Each of the thirty four cots has a letter and number assigned. The tent is already almost full, with Michonne's cot being next to two not yet claimed near the entrance.</p><p>What the woman called a footlocker is a generous term.  Most in the tent were definitely assembled as makeshift storage from empty wooden crates, with hinges mounted on one side and a hasp on the other.  It's better than nothing, although she prefers not to leave their things unguarded, locks or not.</p><p>She drops her bag onto the bed and shucks Andre out of the carrier.  He looks around the tent wide eyed, so she finds a toy car in their bag.  There's a wool blanket thrown haphazardly at the head of the cot, so she reaches out to feel it.  It's not high quality, and likely unneeded in the heat, but at least it is there.  She has a fleece blanket in her bag, too.</p><p>"We're going to go see what these vouchers are for," Mike says.  "Want me to take yours?"</p><p>She isn't entirely sure why she shakes her head.  Maybe it's a growing dissatisfaction with Mike's irresponsible behavior even before people began falling ill. Honestly, she's been considering asking him to move out for over a month now. "I'll go when you get back."</p><p>Neither man argues, so after stashing their bags in their footlockers, they both make their way out of the tent.  It's probably a sign that Andre doesn't ask to go with his father or even pay attention that he's leaving.</p><p>With them gone, Michonne asks Andre, "You hungry, baby boy?"</p><p>"Little bit."</p><p>Unzipping the bag further, she finds the drawstring bag of toddler foods.  Andre takes the apple, spinach, and oat bar and munches with a happy grin.  Mike makes fun of the specialty organic items, but ordering them online meant she has plenty of Andre's food stashed away.</p><p>Loud speech with an over emphasized drawl catches her attention as she tucks the bag in the footlocker. Two rough looking men enter the tent and eye how full it is.  The older one with the nearly shaved head takes one look at Michonne and Andre and looks like he's bitten into a piece of rotten fruit.</p><p>"How about we switch cots, baby brother?  Ain't sleeping next to those two."</p><p>She feels her back stiffen immediately, eyes narrowing at both men.  It draws attention from others in the tent, but no one speaks up.</p><p>"Ain't like she wants to sleep next to an asshole like you, either." The other man shoulders past his brother roughly and drops a duffel bag and some sort of odd shaped case on the cot next to Michonne.</p><p>Instead of being offended, the older man guffaws and takes the last cot, the one nearest the entrance.  "You always was the sweet one, Daryl."</p><p>"Goddamned rattlesnake seems sweet next to you," Daryl mumbles.  He never looks toward Michonne and Andre.  She can't tell if he shares his brother's opinion or just doesn't care about his cot neighbors at all.</p><p>Deciding to ignore the pair, she returns her attention to Andre.  He finishes his oat bar and hands her the wrapper, returning to playing with the car by driving it around the cot.  Michonne tucks the wrapper in her pocket, not wanting to walk close to the asshole's cot to reach the trash can until she has to.</p><p>It seems the man in question is going to sleep, since he's stowed his bag in his footlocker and stretched his bulky frame out on the cot.  He reaches inside his leather vest and thrusts a crumpled voucher paper at his brother.  "Take care of that, will ya?"</p><p>Daryl takes it and sighs, tucking it into a pocket inside his own vest.  He finishes stowing his own gear, taking special care with the oddly shaped bag.  Mike and Terry's loud return makes him flinch away from the aisle, but Michonne can't really blame him for the glare he sends their way.  The pair are being obnoxious, and Daryl isn't the only one giving them annoyed looks.</p><p>They tumble their stuff onto Mike's cot and rummage through it like teenagers.  "Should have let us get yours, Chonne.  Gonna be a lot to carry," Mike says.</p><p>"I'm sure I'll manage." He doesn't notice her cool tone, but then again, when does he ever?</p><p>"Should go soon.  Lady said they'll shut it down by ten, even if they still are letting people into camp. Andre can come sit with me."</p><p>Michonne is a little surprised at the offer to watch Andre, but she's somehow uncomfortable with the idea of him being out of her sight.  "I'll take him with me.  He'll get bored just sitting here."</p><p>It isn't surprising that Mike doesn't argue.  Once Andre is settled back into his carrier, she checks that she has both vouchers and ventures back out.  In passing, she notices the older redneck is asleep and snoring, but the younger one is gone.</p><p>It doesn't take her long to reach the line for the supply table, but she finds herself looking at the back of a familiar vest.  Biting back a sigh, she concentrates on the two vouchers instead.  One is different than the other, possibly because Andre is a child.</p><p>"Is he an angel, Mommy?" Andre asks, leaning around to stare at Daryl's back.</p><p>Michonne prays the man's ignoring them as she answers her son.  "No, sweetie.  It's decoration, like your Iron Man shirt."</p><p>"Angel was a superhero, too, Mommy." Andre's exasperated tone makes her wrack her brain to place the character in question.</p><p>"From the X-Men?"</p><p>"Yes!  He could fly!" Andre loves the flying superheroes the best, fascinated with the idea ever since they flew to visit Michonne's mother in Oregon last Christmas.</p><p>She realizes the man's shoulders are shaking just a bit.  Before she can worry he's offended, Daryl turns and she realizes he's amused and trying not to laugh.  "Can't fly, little man.  Gotta leave that to the birdies now."</p><p>Speaking directly to her son makes him Andre's new best friend.  Michonne almost feels sorry for the man as he's pelted with questions about everything from birds to hunting to superheroes.  They're almost at the head of the line when Daryl looks directly at her for the first time, catching her amusement.</p><p>"What's so funny?" he frowns just a little, brow furrowing.</p><p>"I don't think I've ever seen a grown man admit to having a female as a favorite superhero before."</p><p>"Storm could control the weather.  That's just badass.  You saying she's not your favorite?" He's blushing though, a pink tint darkening his complexion.  Something about his body language screams embarassment, and she thinks of the brother back in their tent.  She doubts the gruff older redneck would find his choice amusing.</p><p>"I was always partial to Batman." The reply seems to set aside the man's embarrassment, at least.</p><p>Daryl looks toward Andre.  "Sure you ain't adopted, little man?  She likes DC."</p><p>That makes Michonne lose her battle not to laugh, but at least he doesn't seem offended.  Then it's Daryl's turn at the supply table, where he presents the two vouchers and receives two plastic shopping bags and two gallons of water.  When he turns to leave, he surprises her by offering a fist bump to Andre as farewell before picking up the second water jug.</p><p>The woman at the table eyes the man with distaste as he walks away.  "Gonna be a mess in here if they keep letting his kind in."</p><p>Despite Michonne's discomfort with the man's older brother, the statement raises her hackles.  Too many years of that sort of statement made toward her based on her skin color make it hard to resist. And the man was perfectly sweet and patient with Andre. "And what would 'his kind' mean?" she asks in her best 'grill the uncooperative witness' tone.  It's made braver beings than the one in front of her cry.</p><p>The brunette flushes such a dark shade of red that Michonne has to wonder if it's painful.  "Bikers.  They're all druggies, you know."</p><p>"No, I don't know.  I found stereotyping people leads to poor decision making in my line of work." The ice in her voice makes the woman pale instead of flush.  Michonne offers her vouchers and watches as she fumbles them.  The woman isn't in uniform like most other staff, so she doesn't have a name tag.  The irritated part of Michonne labels her as Bitchy.</p><p>"They gave him a baby voucher.  Does he need diapers or formula?"  Bitchy looks Andre over.  "He looks kinda big for those."</p><p>"No, he's fully potty trained.  I wouldn't say no to the formula, all things considered." Michonne suspects milk will be hard to come by here, and formula at least has extra nutrition.</p><p>"We've got toddler milk powder, if that would be better."</p><p>Michonne nods, and the woman takes a bag to a couple of open crates that resemble the ones turned into footlockers.  She drops two cans of powdered milk into the bag, and then a variety of packaged meals, snacks, and pouches of a supermarket brand of toddler food.  Bringing that bag to the table and double bagging it, she goes back to fetch a prepacked plastic bag and two net bags with hygiene items.  Once everything is on the table, she adds two gallon jugs of water.</p><p>"Will you be able to carry everything?" the woman asks hesitantly.</p><p>"Should be able to." Michonne drops the hygiene supplies into the less overflowing bag and slides the handles of each plastic bag over her arms to rest in the crook of her elbow.  It frees her to grip the water jugs.</p><p>That gets her a wan smile from Bitchy.  "There are water resupply stations on your map, now that you have jugs you can refill."</p><p>Deciding to be the better person, Michonne thanks her politely and heads back toward the tent. When she drops everything on her cot and works her arms to restore good circulation, she notes that half the tent is following the older redneck's example and sleeping.  The tent has electricity of a sort, from Christmas lights strung along the perimeter and center beam of the tent frame.</p><p>Mike and Terry are on Terry's cot, playing cards, and something about their body language tells her they're under the influence.  She can only hope they were discrete, because drug use was one of the expellable offenses on the paperwork.  It makes her blood boil that the two would bring a stash along with the danger of the world right now. If they get their asses ejected from the camp, they're on their own.</p><p>Daryl is still sorting his own supplies into his footlocker.  She notices he packs his half dozen MREs and toiletries into his duffel and decides to do the same.  Her bag has the same number of MREs, along with a box of fruit and nut granola bars.  </p><p>The hygiene bags are definitely specialized.  Hers has a small box of tampons that she figures she can always trade to someone in need of them, along with travel sized deodorant, toothpaste, toothbrush, body wash, and shampoo.  The most useful bits are the travel washcloth and tiny bottle of sanitizer. Andre's is a baby travel toiletry kit tucked alongside a washcloth and sanitizer.</p><p>It takes some rearranging to settle everything into her bag properly. If the hot meals promised don't pan out, her son is probably set for food for over a week right now.  It's late, and Andre's had a snack, so she puts the bag away.</p><p>"Let's go potty before bed, Andre," she suggests.  This time, she leaves the carrier behind and just plunks him onto her hip. As they step through the tent opening, she catches Andre waving over shoulder, but the only person paying an attention is Daryl, who looks flustered to be caught waving back.</p><p>The portapotties are stationed two to each tent, with a hand sanitizing station sitting in between.  It means she has to wait, but thankfully the one that opens up first doesn't smell as disgusting as she knows it can get over time in the Georgia summer heat.  They both get their business taken care of, stopping by the hand sanitizer.</p><p>"It stinks, Mommy," Andre complains, wrinkling his little nose.</p><p>"I know, baby, but it's easier for places like this than soap and water." He sighs and lets her lift him.</p><p>Back in the tent, she fishes out a small bottle of citrus scented hand lotion from a side pocket on her bag and squirts the tiniest of dollops onto her son's palm. "Rub that in your hands to help them smell better."</p><p>Andre carefully smears the lotion all over his tiny fingers with all the serious concentration of an expert manicurist.  He follows it up with sniffing his hands and giggling.  "Now I smell like oranges, Mommy."</p><p>"You like oranges."</p><p>"They're my favorite." A jaw cracking yawn ends the sentence.</p><p>"How about we lay down and get some sleep?  We can go exploring in the morning." Andre nods and stretches out, using the folded blanket as a pillow.  Michonne tugs his shoes off and sets them at the foot of the cot, along with her own boots.</p><p>Settling alongside Andre, she realizes she's facing Daryl's cot with her back to her own boyfriend.  The redneck is settled on his back, but the idea he's not sleeping yet is confirmed when he raises up and jolts his brother's cot.</p><p>"Roll your fat ass over, Merle.  Ain't nobody gonna sleep with you snoring like the prize boar hog at the county fair."</p><p>It must be a common occurrence between the brothers, because the older man grumbles a bit but turns to his side, facing the tent wall.  From somewhere in the tent, Michonne hears, "Oh thank you, Jesus." It makes her smile.  Merle might not be the only snorer in the tent, but he was the loudest.</p><p>Then she's caught in her amusement by Daryl and finds herself looking into the bluest pair of eyes she's ever seen.  He doesn't seem offended, giving her the barest hint of a lopsided smile as he turns back onto his back.  One arm goes under his head, and she watches his breathing settle into the steady rhythm of sleep.</p><p>Despite the light still on for those not yet sleeping, she drifts off herself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: The Grenade Series: three parallel stories, filling multiple requests: Rick's nurse - who is/was she - and could she live, combined with a viable Shane/Lori story actually set in the ZA. Also requested - Daryl/Michonne, Merle/Princess.</p><p>This series will contain references to homophobia and racism typical to small town Southern culture.</p><p>Primary POVs: Daryl, Michonne, Merle, eventually probably Princess.</p><p>Pairings: Daryl/Michonne, Merle/Princess (Juanita Sanchez), Gabriel/Rosita.</p><p>Group Members Planned (as of 12 Aug): Daryl, Merle, Michonne, Andre, Princess, Tyreese, Sasha, Abraham, Rosita, Eugene, Gabriel.</p><p>This completely ignores any of the webisodes as canon. Larger scale plots like the Governor will probably be disregarded entirely. Characters from any season may be fair game. This will go pretty far afield on the AU stage, I think. As with all of my stories, the children actually featured in the show live or flashback will not die (with the possible exception of Abraham's children).</p><p>All three groups will eventually end up on the Georgia Coast near/on the Golden Isles around the time of Judith's birth. Eventually will include selected Kingdom-based characters (definitely Ezekiel, Jerry, Benjamin, Henry, and Dianne), some Alexandrians (likely Aaron, Eric, Denise, Olivia, and Spencer), as well as Jesus (Paul).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Feral Kindness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michonne gets to know others in the camp, even as she finds someone bringing treats for Andre.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>June 2, 2010</p><p>Michonne smiles as she watches Andre play on the playground the refugee center gained by luck of a daycare being adjacent to the high school campus.  The equipment is too small for older kids, and it's distressing how few really small children are here.  Maybe they are keeping indoors, since most of the escorting parents she's seen have ID tags that indicate overflow quarters.</p><p>"I saw you braved the chow line with your son at breakfast. If you need extra hands, please let me know," Joanna says, smiling kindly.  The woman is pushing sixty, here at the center with her two adult daughters and four grandchildren. Silvery hair contrasts against skin as dark as Michonne's.  "Being a single mother is hard even at the best of times."</p><p>Michonne considers correcting her, but the honest truth is that she might as well be.  She doesn't know where Mike and Terry skittered off to before breakfast, but they disappeared without any word when she took Andre to the bathroom.  It is a sign of the dying relationship that she honestly doesn't care, as long as they don't get themselves thrown out.</p><p>Their disappearance left her to either dip into food supplies she wanted to save or to back carry her son through the chow line.  She opted for the line, because it would be better food for Andre, she hoped. Luckily, she was right, since breakfast was powdered eggs, bland sausage, and canned biscuits, but served with juice, milk, and best of all, whole clementine oranges. She split one petite citrus fruit with Andre and saved the second for later.</p><p>"I'll keep that in mind at lunch," she tells the woman.  "Andre!  You wait your turn on that slide, or we go back to the tent for a nap."</p><p>Her son startles at the admonishment, but he backs off from crowding the girl ahead of him in line.  Michonne leans on the short chain link fence and keeps an eye on him.  The last thing they need is a playground spat.</p><p>"All this sitting around makes me wish there was work for us to do," Joanna remarks with a sigh. "Although I suppose I would end up babysitting in that scenario."</p><p>Michonne thinks of the complex undertaking that keeping the center running must be.  Most of the staff look like stressed baby Guardsmen.  "Maybe we should suggest it.  Work rosters might be useful, and it's not like a hurricane shelter where we know we're going home in a few days."</p><p>"I'm betting the lazy folks will object, but this many people with so few Guardsmen means they'll get overwhelmed as even more come in.  You can already see the problem starting at the later meals, when they struggle to keep up."</p><p>"How long have you been here?"  The woman's in overflow, but surely the center didn't fill up the interior that fast.</p><p>"Three days.  Came the first day they advised people to come.  My older daughter's husband is with the county sheriff's department.  He told her they let certain people in the center before it officially opened.  Families of those working at the hospitals and Atlanta police and fire department."</p><p>Part of Michonne dislikes the injustice for families that came right away, but she can also understand that those on the frontline of this mess need to know their loved ones are sheltered and safe.  "It's easy to forget just how many people that would be, until you see it here."</p><p>The silver haired woman nods.  "The tents aren't all that bad.  I think we get better relief from the heat than the interior residents do, because we at least have tent flaps to open and find some air movement."</p><p>Michonne thinks about the weak crossbreeze last night once someone tied back the flaps on either end.  It was no air conditioning substitute, but at least the heat level went from boiling hot to a slow steambake. "I suppose you're right on that."</p><p>Idle chat about the center routines and Joanna's worry for the son-in-law still out there trying to do his job as a deputy passes the time until Michonne takes Andre back to the tent to see if Mike or Terry is around.  She finds nothing but empty cots, feels frustrated at their complete disappearance.  The oddity is a single clementine perched on her blanket turned pillow.</p><p>"Orange, Mommy!" Andre scrambles for it. "Peel it, please?"</p><p>As she puzzles over the fruit's appearance, she pockets it and slips the one saved from breakfast out to peel instead.  It's unlikely Mike would have left fruit for Andre, so where did it come from?  She tosses the peels, leaving Andre to his sticky snack, when an older man signals her to walk over.</p><p>His reason for being idle in the tent are obvious with his leg amputated below the knee.  Crutches lean against the cot, even as he sets his book down temporarily.  "Man from the cot next to you left the orange.  The white boy your son was talking about Spiderman with this morning."</p><p>"Daryl left it?" She feels the clementine tucked in the cargo pocket of her pants, a little confused.</p><p>"Yeah. Came in after breakfast, muttered to himself for a good five minutes, and dropped the orange off before darting out of here like he was shoplifting instead of giving fruit to a toddler." The old man chuckles, his smile showing dimples that probably were quite the lure with the ladies when he was young.  "Bit of a feral cat, that one."</p><p>Michonne thinks of Daryl's ongoing patience and kindness toward Andre and shakes her head.  "I would say more canine than feline, but probably feral, yes."</p><p>That earns her a laugh, and an offered hand to shake.  "Juan Fernandez."</p><p>"Michonne Hawthorne.  My son is Andre." She doesn't volunteer Mike or Terry, not until those two assholes earn the mention.</p><p>"If you need a little break, your son's welcome to hang out, if the leg doesn't scare him.  Was still being fitted for a prosthetic when things started shutting down.  Stuck with the crutches now." </p><p>"Do you have anyone to help you?" It's the second time today a stranger has offered to help with Andre.  Third, if she counts the weight of the fruit in her pocket.  It makes her feel like she's slacking, since she's young and able bodied.</p><p>"My granddaughter is here.  Lucia looks after me well enough, but she figures midday is the best time for the showers to be less crowded."</p><p>"She's probably right.  Guess it doesn't matter much on timing.  Hot as it's getting, you end up sweaty five minutes later whether you shower at noon or midnight."</p><p>Juan chuckles even as he dabs a colorful bandana across his forehead. "True words, indeed."</p><p>They chat for a minute longer, before Andre needs the sticky juice cleaned off his skin and a cup of water.  She's glad she packed two sippy cups, even if she's been using the base of one for her own water rations. It makes her son giggle and caution her not to spill without the lid.  </p><p>He's drowsy now, despite the heat, so Michonne settles him down for a short nap before lunch and rejoins her new friend for a few rounds of cards while he sleeps.  Lucia returns, freshly scrubbed, and smiling the same dimpled smile of her grandfather.  The girl is a pretty Latina with pale skin, dark hair, and hazel eyes who looks fourteen but assures Michonne she just finished her third year in the engineering program at Georgia Tech.  She's also quite the card shark, so Michonne is glad they aren't playing for stakes.</p><p>Cheerful from the good company, Michonne doesn't mind the long line of cranky, bored people when she takes Andre to lunch.  The chili is something he probably won't eat, but she accepts two styrofoam packaged lunches anyway.  Balancing fruit cups and cartons of milk on top, she looks for Joanna and doesn't see the elderly woman or her family.</p><p>There's space at a wobbly folding table probably dragged in from some business nearby based on the instructions for a fax machine still taped securely on one end.  She sits Andre in the chair next to hers and opens the containers.  There's cornbread to go with the chili, which shows they're making an effort with feeding the refugees.  It would be far easier just to toss a handful of crackers into the container and call it done.</p><p>Andre will eat the rice that is clumped into the container, at least.  She gets him started and tests out the chili.  It's edible and not too spicy, so she spoons a little dab on his rice.  He isn't a picky eater normally, but an unfortunate encounter with too spicy chili turned him off the dish.</p><p>It doesn't surprise her when he carefully eats around the addition to his rice and cornbread.  When someone sits across from them, Andre's happy greeting gives away their companion quickly.</p><p>Daryl looks like he expects her to chase him off, but when she smiles, he turns his attention to Andre.  "You not gonna eat the chili, little man?  Gonna be hard to grow superhero muscles without meat and beans."</p><p>"Chili hurts my mouth."</p><p>Daryl stirs his own mediocre chili, which he's crumbled his cornbread into.  "Nah, this stuff is more like soup with hamburger and beans than hot chili."</p><p>"Really, Mommy?" Andre is eyeing the dab of chili curiously.</p><p>"Yes, sweetheart.  I guess whoever made it didn't have peppers and spices to add." She takes a bite to set the example. The stuff is probably canned, the sort of plain institutional slop provided to school lunch programs or homeless shelters. </p><p>Andre looks to where Daryl's making short work of his food, eating with that efficient swiftness Michonne recognizes from volunteering at the soup kitchen twice a month.  He looks healthy and clean enough, but that can be deceiving, and his brother shows signs of being an addict.  Then again, food insecurity is one of those things that never goes away, especially if it's learned early in life.  It twinges a suspicion in her mind about why he would leave food for Andre.</p><p>A clumsy dive of her son's spoon scoops up chili and rice, and Andre's surprised expression makes her smile.  She isn't surprised when he rotates the container to eat directly from the chili next. They eat mostly in silence, although Andre occasionally pauses in eating to query something random to Daryl that the man answers patiently.</p><p>When they're done, Michonne is surprised to see Daryl ease his fruit cup her way. "You don't like fruit?" she asks, pausing in helping Andre drink the sweet juice off his little tub of mandarin oranges.</p><p>"Allergic to citrus.  And he said he likes oranges." He looks away, an embarrassed flush tinging the tips of his ears red and dusting his cheeks even under the weathered tan. It makes her wonder if it is due to admitting to eavesdropping last night, the kindness of the gifts, or both.</p><p>"Then I thank you for sharing with Andre." The fruit table seems to be optional, and she's seen many people bypass it entirely.  Daryl doesn't have to take his share only to give it away.</p><p>"Food shouldn't go to waste when a boy needs it." As if that's an admission he can't handle making, Daryl gathers his trash and offers Andre another fist bump.  "Gonna go make sure my brother ain't gotten himself in trouble."</p><p>Even as Michonne opens her own little tub of mandarins, she watches the man go.  His shoulders are held wide and stiff under the tattered leather vest, as if he's long used to making himself look unapproachable.  The weight of the fruit in her pocket tugs at her heartstrings.</p><p>Something tells her the rough man's need to see a toddler he barely knows fed goes back to being a hungry little boy himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Short chapter, but anything else felt contrived...</p><p>I am going to wrap another request from my pending list into this series.  With Glenn and Maggie in separate groups, it seems like an interesting time to bring in the Glenn/OC request.  Lucia will slip from this story to the other. 😁</p><p>Food insecurity is a terrible thing that imbeds into a child's psyche pretty permanently.  Rather than the gross and unsanitary version of Daryl's food issues in the show, I decided to go a different route.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Accidental Leadership</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Events start spinning into chaos at the refugee center, and Michonne backs Merle's paranoia in getting people to flee to safety.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>June 3, 2010</b>
  </span>
</p><p>When Mike and Terry's cots don't appear to have been slept in, Michonne debates a while before seeking the overworked information folks near the gate.  She isn't going to have Andre miss breakfast to figure out where the two idiots might have gotten involved in.  After a decent bowl of oatmeal and almost overripe bananas, she loads him in the carrier and heads toward the gates.</p><p>The field of cars outside the fence seems to go on forever.  She waits her turn, sweet talking Andre into patience.  She recognizes the girl who did hers and Andre's exam, and surprisingly, the girl seems to recognize her.</p><p>"I seem to have misplaced the two men who came in with me as a family group." Michonne sighs, figuring she might as well be honest.  "I'm afraid they might have done something to get tossed out."</p><p>Part of her thinks the Guardsmen would have come and gotten the men's belongings, but who knows.</p><p>The name tape on the uniform reads Irving, and she pushes a fluff of loose auburn hair back and gives Michonne a sympathetic smile.  "I'm not supposed to, but I'll look them up."</p><p>It takes Corporal Irving five minutes on the ancient laptop before she gives Michonne a bleak look.  "You were right to be concerned.  They were both expelled late yesterday for public intoxication and possession.  Did no one tell you?"</p><p>"No.  They weren't back when it was time for Andre to sleep, and I wasn't chasing grown men down when he was tired." She sighs, jiggling Andre's foot and realizing that she and her son are on their own.  "I don't think they were allowed their belongings."</p><p>The young corporal shakes her head.  "It says one of the men was belligerent, so they weren't allowed back in camp.  They were probably bussed down to the stadium and set free there.  Report says they expelled seven men and a woman last night."</p><p>Clearing the screen, Irving asks, "Do you want to leave as well?  Family members are allowed to, but you would be permitted to go find your vehicle and take your belongings in a voluntary exit."</p><p>Michonne shakes her head, unwilling to risk Andre for the two idiots.  "They made their choices."</p><p>Corporal Irving gives her a relieved smile as she looks at Andre.  She calls another woman over, this one a dusky skinned corporal named Evans.  "I'm taking my lunch break a bit early."</p><p>The other girl nods and plops in the chair, taking the next person in line with weary resignation.  Irving leads Michonne away.  "I've got a master key to the padlocks.  We're supposed to remove belongings and store them, so the cots can be reassigned.  I'll let you take a look first."</p><p>Walking alongside her, Michonne figures she's probably not supposed to allow it, but why complain about the kindness?  Irving appropriates a wheeled cart along the way, and she makes efficient work of opening the footlockers.  After a search for contraband, bagging enough to really piss Michonne off about the men risking their safe haven, she's allowed to take their leftover food.</p><p>"You sure there's nothing else you need or want?"</p><p>"I'm good." Honestly, as much as she could use the extra t-shirts, she can't bring herself to wear anything of his now.  The bag would be nice, but she couldn't reasonably carry a second bag and Andre if they had to leave this place.</p><p>Once the corporal leaves, she gives Andre a snack from her bag.  It doesn't take long to rearrange what she can into her own bag, but it leaves her with four MREs that won't fit.  After some thought, she leaves two on Daryl's pillow and takes two to Juan's cot.</p><p>It makes her glad that there's no one in the tent for once.  Mike and Terry's ongoing absence from the tent and meals will make their expulsion go unnoticed by most.  She sighs, fixing Andre's sippy cup and noting she should probably refill their water jugs.</p><p>Lunch is complicated by a rainstorm, so Michonne reluctantly leaves Andre with Juan and Lucia while she fetches meals for them once Lucia's back.  She's wet and miserable when she returns, but Lucia holds a blanket for privacy so she can change her shirt, at least.  Unlike the empty tent earlier, the rain drives many people inside.</p><p>The Dixon brothers make their way inside, shrugging out of wet clothing.  The loud one brings news there's been an attack inside the camp.</p><p>"I'm telling you, baby brother, I've been in the goddamned Marines.  These baby Army punks aren't going to keep all these people safe, and they also aren't telling the truth about what happened inside the building."</p><p>Daryl just grimaces, as if he's long used to his brother's ranting.  He spots the two MREs, frowning and looking right to Michonne where she's sitting at the foot of Juan's cot to play cards after eating.  She points at the unsecured footlockers.</p><p>Where his brother's random rantings of the past few days don't seem to phase him, the sight of those footlockers seems to piss him off.  It's the first sign of anger she's seen on the man.  He packs the two meals away, though, not saying a word.</p><p>"Just saying we should leave while we still can.  Too many people crowded together ain't healthy or sanitary, Daryl.  Telling you we've got a black plague type situation here.  Cholera or dysentery just waiting to break out, too."</p><p>Funny thing is, Michonne notices a lot of people paying attention to the big redneck, and she sees several looking thoughtful.  Lucia folds her cards into a pile.  </p><p>"I'll be right back."  She disappears, sidestepping the elder Dixon with ease near the tent exit.</p><p>"She's made a friend over in the main building, some young sergeant that's sweet on her.  Figure she's going to see what she can ferret out," Juan explains as he reshuffles the cards and deals out a new game.</p><p>When the rain finally eases off, two hours have passed and Lucia hasn't returned.  Daryl stalks out of the tent, muttering about taking a piss.  A gentle nudge from Juan makes her look toward Merle, who seems to be studying the occupants of the tent with a more assessing gaze than she expects.</p><p>It's the first time he's looked her way and her skin not crawled with that sixth sense of being near someone who condemns her for her race.  If they were younger, she would almost say it's that squirm of anticipation of being selected for a sports team back in school.  The man mentioned serving in the Marines, so maybe he is deciding if any of them are useful to him in a fight against the dead he predicts are a foregone conclusion inside the refugee center.</p><p>Daryl's return sends everyone into high alert.  "Bastards are evacuating some of the ones inside the school on buses.  Trying to hide it, but it's happening."</p><p>It's getting close to dark.  Moving people at dark goes against what they were told about travel. Michonne exchanges a worried look with Juan.</p><p>"I can go look for Lucia," she offers, but Daryl interrupts.</p><p>"Saw her get bundled onto a bus by that dipshit Guardsman she was talking to.  Imagine he promised to come fetch the grandpa, but he headed toward another building."</p><p>"Call me a fucked up conspiracy theorist all you like, baby brother, but there's something seriously wrong with this situation." Merle is opening the padlock on his footlocker, shouldering his ancient looking military duffel.  He shifts something around from thr bag to his waistband, and she's almost certain it's a handgun.</p><p>"Corporal told me this morning that we can leave voluntarily if we want," Michonne volunteers.  She pats Juan on the shoulder.  "Get your things.  You can ride with me and my son.  We'll figure out where the buses are going."</p><p>Having her join in the redneck's advice to leave gets everyone moving.  Somehow she isn't surprised when the weird case Daryl brought in reveals a crossbow.  She settles Andre on her back and unzips her bag, unearthing her katana.</p><p>As she hooks the sheath on the bag she suspends across her chest, she smiles grimly.  "Like we don't all have something smuggled in."</p><p>It seems to cascade the others, most bringing out knives or bats, with even Juan sheepishly producing a revolver.  "Not much use if I'm on the move, but get me to a car, I can help."</p><p>"Hang on a minute." Daryl snatches a battered camo shirt that looks Army surplus out of his bag.  He slips it over Andre's arms and head, making it into a hoodie, before shifting Michonne's bag like a padded shelf that covers his pudgy legs. She feels a surge of gratitude that he's making it hard for the toddler to be bitten while she's distracted.</p><p>Andre isn't the only child in the tent, but he's the only one under ten.  Somehow, they all end up following Merle, setting aside the discomfort of the man's openly racist shittiness because he doesn't seem to care in this odd military mode he's slipped into.  He leads the group of thirty toward the front gate, ordering everyone to keep the kids in the center.</p><p>The screams deeper in the tent city start just as they reach the exam tents.  Pale and terrified young Guardsmen draw weapons and run toward the noise, even as one unlocks the gate.  "Buses are meeting up at Stone Mountain," the redheaded beanpole of a kid yells out.  "Get there as fast as you can."</p><p>Merle eyes the youth sternly.  "How long we got, boy?"</p><p>The kid doesn't even wear corporal rank yet, but he squares his thin shoulders.  "No more than an hour."</p><p>The redneck bellows out orders like a drill sergeant in a movie.  "Get to your cars and get the fuck out of the city limits.  Military is gonna bomb the city."</p><p>That sends people scattering as much as the distant screams and the beginnings of gunfire.  As Michonne passes the redheaded kid, she hears Merle mutter, "No shame in deserting when they lay down orders like that, kid."</p><p>Setting a pace that Juan can keep up with, she tries not to look back to see if the young man takes the advice.  Surprising her, neither Dixon brother abandons the little cluster of people who don't scatter.  Most of them are probably parked together anyway, because the cots were assigned by arrival.  Sure enough, when Michonne reaches her sturdy little 4Runner, the Dixons head for an old Ford truck two spots down.</p><p>She tumbles Andre into the back, not bothering with his car seat.  Her bag lands with a thump on the seat, and she scrambles for the driver's seat.  Juan is winded and looks pained as he slides his crutches and the two bags he's carrying into the rear floorboard.  The missing leg would make driving impossible, so she doesn't even ask where his and Lucia's vehicle is.</p><p>The Toyota starts up easily, and Michonne gets a good view of a commotion near the gates.  More refugees pour out, but they aren't as lucky as Michonne's group was.  Walkers are pursuing and catching this group.  She prays sweet Joanna and her family got out safely, even as she falls into a line of vehicles leaving as fast as the maze of parked obstacles allow.</p><p>"Might sound like a weird suggestion, but I say we stick close to that rusty old Ford," Juan says.  </p><p>Michonne laughs, knowing it does sound weird on the surface.  But in case they don't find those evacuated buses, being around two capable fighters when she's got a toddler and a disabled retiree sounds like a damned good plan.  When the Civic in between them and the Ford turns to go in a different direction than the young Guardsman indicated the buses were going, they fall in behind the Ford going east.</p><p>"Oh, there is mercy in the world." Juan sounds almost prayerful.  He points at the back of the Ford.</p><p>In the light afforded by Michonne's headlights, she sees the uniformed young man is huddled in the bed of the truck next to a motorcycle.  She hopes he doesn't condemn himself for making the sane choice by leaving.  As a clump of walkers swarms the vehicles in their caravan, the bigger trucks and SUVs work as battering rams.  </p><p>Gunfire erupts as occupants clear the way, even Juan's little snub nose doing what it can.  She can see the redhead get to his knees, aiming his M16.  Bursts from the military rifle help clear the worst, and they punch through and get enough speed to leave the haggard dead behind.</p><p>They aren't quite to Stone Mountain when the sound of helicopters makes Juan twist and stare behind them.  Michonne sees the flash of something being dropped on the city.  Whatever it is doesn't explode quite like she expects, but the city begins to glow.</p><p>"Napalm." Juan turns back to face the front. He's pale and sweating in a way he didn't even in their frantic run. "They're dropping napalm all over the city."</p><p>The warning of no more than an hour ended up being less than forty-five minutes.  She thinks she might kiss the asshole redneck for his timing in stirring everyone to flee the killing field they were about to be trapped in, stuck between the overrun refugee center and the incoming military assault.</p><p>"They lost control and cut their losses," Michonne says softly.  "Average citizen isn't worth it to them in light of the danger to the whole."</p><p>They fall quiet except for Juan finding Andre his sippy cup.  The cheerful older man is subdued and silent until they pull into the parking lot.  Only two buses are here, along with a dozen or so cars that arrive with their caravan.</p><p>"Juan, can you stay with Andre while I figure out what is going on?  I can find Lucia for you."</p><p>He nods, pulling a book from the organizer behind the driver's seat to read to her son.  She slides her katana in place on her back, feeling anxious.  The center had at least six buses that she remembers seeing.  Why are only two here?</p><p>It's chaos, no one seeming to be in charge.  To their credit, even if they knew what was coming, the Guardsmen stuffed the buses full of civilians and stayed behind.  Only four Guardsmen emerge, all as painfully young as the kid that laid cover fire for the caravan. Nominal guards for scared refugees, they're as lost as the rest.</p><p>Lucia is not among the riders of either bus.</p><p>"Not a single NCO among them," Merle grumbles.  She isn't sure if he's complaining or just observing.</p><p>"Guess you're commissioned, Dixon," she retorts.</p><p>He laughs, nudging his brother, who rolls his eyes.  "That makes me an officer.  World really has gone to hell with a Dixon as an officer."</p><p>Somehow, probably because she loses her formidable temper and is openly wearing a damned sword, Michonne ends up bossing around almost two hundred refugees.  It's after dark, one of the Guardsmen confirms they did ship out all six buses, and they don't have any fences here.</p><p>"Strategically, aim for one of the hotels.  Ain't getting all these people to sleep on those buses with them being overcrowded." Merle eyes his timid quintet of soldiers.  "I'll take a couple of teams in to get these people some beds for the night. Fires in the city will keep the dead bastards away, I suspect."</p><p>For lack of any other options, Michonne agrees, letting those willing and armed fall into line with the Dixon brothers.  By midnight, they have everyone inside and a pile of former guests and workers piled outside.  Someone gets the emergency generator running.  She orders the buses parked nearest the entrance and assigns all the families with children near that location.</p><p>Juan claims a couch in the lobby, looking lost.  "What could have happened to the other buses?"</p><p>"In the dark, if the drivers didn't know the city?  They could be anywhere.  Come daylight, we'll send folks out to look.  Why don't you get some sleep?"</p><p>The older man nods, but he shifts to sleep on the couch.  Michonne brings him a blanket from an abandoned housekeeping cart.  When she reaches the room she's claimed, halls lit only by emergency lighting, she finds Daryl sitting on the bed in the room opposite, still watching Andre sleep across the hall like she left them.</p><p>"Gonna go take a watch shift," he tells her.  "Merle's gonna head up the midnight one, then that marathon lady for the dawn one."</p><p>"I can take a watch lead, you know."</p><p>Daryl rubs at his chest and nods.  "Betcha can, but seems like you're nominated in charge of this bunch of assholes for now. Gonna need sleep for that."</p><p>Deciding not to argue, she watches Daryl pace down the hall.  In no way does she want to be in charge of this small town worth of people.  But until she turns up some willing administrator, someone has to get these people somewhere safer than the fringes of a city their own damned military just bombed.</p><p>Setting her katana on the nightstand, she climbs in the bed next to Andre and aims for that sleep she knows she's going to need.  Everything else she'll figure out come daylight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not as much Daryl in this one...</p><p>They won't stay with such a large group long term, eventually breaking off with maybe 20-30 people.  Lucia will be missing for a while, eventually landing with Glenn's group before they roam east and find Michonne's.</p><p>Pay attention to the redheaded kid.  A certain canon character's kids aged up, and one was old enough for military service. </p><p>Those other normally Virginian characters may turn up as Georgians in this instead of later at the coast, like Aaron, Paul, etc.</p><p>Michonne isn't being unfeeling about Mike, just overwhelmed and really pissed off.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Free Will</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michonne informs Daryl that she'll be leading a small group southeast, away from Atlanta, causing him to reflect on the oddity of their growing friendship and his attachment to Andre.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>June 20, 2010</b>
  </span>
</p><p>Daryl perches on top of one of the buses parked as a protective ring around the hotel property.  The whole improvised fence isn’t as sturdy as this spot, since some places have smaller vans or SUVs to provide a fence line.  This one gives him one of the better views to take watch, though, so it’s pretty much an official watch post now.</p><p>There are more and more walkers needing to be put down as time passes and distractions further inside the city die down.  He isn’t sure that Michonne can convince the people she somehow ended up looking after to actually leave this temporary sanctuary.  It’s just a matter of time before it falls the same way the refugee center did.</p><p>As if his thoughts summoned her, the bus shifts under her weight as she climbs to the top and sits next to him with a sigh.  The heat of the sun glints off her bare arms in those sleeveless shirts she favors that are a much nicer version of what he wears.</p><p>“They being dumbasses?” Daryl asks, although he already knows the answer.  Too many here are just sheep, convinced the government that bombed them will reappear to save them.  It’s one of the most dumbass things Daryl’s ever heard of, and he grew up among the insane conspiracy theories of the Dixon clan.</p><p>“Final decision is that I’ll lead anyone who wants to leave to whatever place I feel might be safe.  The rest will stay under George West’s leadership.  Free will wins out in the end, I suppose.”</p><p>Daryl scoffs and lights a cigarette.  He doesn’t make the usual comment about braindead lawyers, because while West may fit the stereotype he’s always held about the law profession, Michonne does not.  Half the time, he’s convinced she’s pulling his leg about having been a lawyer at all.  Then again, she was a defense attorney, and West some corporate parasite.</p><p>“They realize that Merle’s troop of baby soldiers will all leave when he does yet?” he asks her.  He knows if he turns around, he’ll see the little area the soldiers congregate when they’re off duty.  They flock to his brother like he’s the second coming of Christ himself, their military chain of command training seeking out orders in a way that Daryl could never manage.  The fact that Merle never even made sergeant after getting his rank busted down even before he knocked that officer’s teeth out doesn’t seem to matter to the kiddie soldiers.</p><p>“I did specify all of them are leaving.  The naysayers do not feel that such young soldiers are really an advantage, considering the center fell under their guard.”</p><p>“Typical.  Expect miracles where there ain’t none,” Daryl mutters.  “Kids didn’t have a chance at keeping the center with as few soldiers as they had.”  </p><p>He spots a walker, but before he can aim, one of the college kids that took archery classes rises and downs the stumbling asshole.  They’ll need to do a clean up run in a few hours, retrieving arrows and bolts and dragging the dead further away from the hotel camp.</p><p>“I’ve got to finalize the plans for travel with Merle, but I’m confident we’ll leave just after daylight tomorrow,” Michonne tells him.</p><p>Ain’t that just the irony of their situation?  The woman Merle insulted based on the color of her skin is still working with his asshole brother to keep these people safe.  It surprised Daryl, just how civil their interactions were once Merle shifted into that military mindset of his.  Maybe the Marines trained some sense into him about working across racial lines that they certainly didn’t get in the north Georgia mountains growing up.  Bastard supremacists Merle liked to pal around with definitely would cross those lines if there was a profit in it.</p><p>Michonne and Merle didn’t even come to blows when Michonne told Merle if he intended to keep command of his baby soldiers, he best not endanger them by ‘recreational stupidity’.  Such a polite term for his brother’s coke habit.  Surprisingly, Merle handed over his stash when asked.  One day, Daryl will ask Merle why it was so important that he keep command of the bevy of uniformed kids, but for now, he’s just grateful his brother’s got something constructive to focus on.</p><p>“Alright.  I’ll be ready then.”  Glancing around, he frowns.  “Where’s Andre?”</p><p>Admitting how attached he is to the kid isn’t something Daryl wants to admit to, outside of his own head.  The second he saw the signs of drug use in the kid’s sperm donor, something curdled inside him.  Luckily, helping the kid and his mama out ended up easy enough, with Merle distracted back at the refugee center, and the two men supposed to look out for the boy going missing almost immediately.</p><p>“Joanna’s watching him, along with her grandchildren.”</p><p>Daryl actually likes the older woman, who reminds him of his long departed Granny, despite being the visual opposite of his mama’s grandmother.  Michonne’s relief was a visible thing when Joanna and her family stumbled into the hotel camp the day after the bombing, led by an exhausted redheaded lady corporal who managed to somehow keep fifteen of her original seventy busload alive.  </p><p>Caught on the edge of a napalm drop, the young corporal’s halting description of the special hell they endured makes Daryl hope the assholes who ordered it done die some especially painful death.  Natalie Irving’s heart and lungs may never recover from dragging people free of that wrecked bus.  She’s also their only medical person that made it to Stone Mountain, working as a paramedic for the city of Atlanta on top of her National Guard service.   Weeks of searching haven’t turned up any of the other buses, so they assume the drivers took them out of the parts of the city they can access.</p><p>“Joanna and her family going with us?”</p><p>“Her oldest daughter is upset about leaving the area, but she’s been mostly outvoted by the rest of the family.  If Officer Lamson hasn’t shown up by now, we figure he’s probably a casualty in the city.  Joanna reminded her daughter that Bob wouldn’t want his kids to be in danger.”</p><p>“How many do we need to move out?” Daryl asks, mind already spanning the vehicles set aside for leaving versus the ones they won’t be able to take.  “Merle says if we can cram in a bit, he thinks it’s best we raid some of the abandoned Guard camps outside the city.”</p><p>He and his brother passed plenty of those, coming to Atlanta, although they were about half manned and half abandoned at that point.  Should have been a warning that he and Merle should turn around and ignore the government instructions like they had their entire damned lives.  Can’t say they’re worse off here, not really, than up in the mountains.  Just because he can live off the woods almost entirely doesn’t mean he wants to.</p><p>“About thirty, last count, including Merle’s little troop of six.”  Michonne sighs, rubbing at her face tiredly.  “Half of them are kids, Daryl.  It’s not going to be easy, but I can’t only take grown and able bodied.”</p><p>“Anybody asking you to?” he asks, feeling anger surge at the idea.  Assigning a value to who they save makes him want to hurt someone.  Daryl knows Merle does some assessment of people’s skills, but it’s to decide who can be trusted to fight and who is a liability to be protected.  It’s also just the grown ass adults, because even at his most asshole levels, Merle ain’t discarding kids.</p><p>“No, thank God, but we’re going to have to take that into account where we settle.”</p><p>“Need a compound or an island or something.”  It’s an idle observation, just thinking of easy options they don’t have to build and maintain.</p><p>Michonne pats his hand, drawing his attention to her grin.  “Genius idea.  Ever been to the coast down around Savannah?”</p><p>“Never even seen the ocean,” Daryl admits.  It’s a weird thing to think about, considering Georgia is a coastal state, but anytime he had free time off work, he spent it in the woods or mountains.  He barely knows how to swim, so the ocean never had a lot of appeal.  “Merle’s been, with the service, but not me.”</p><p>“First time for everything then, and I think you’ll like the barrier islands, because half of them were set aside for wildlife refuges.  Should have good hunting.”</p><p>“One of them has horses, right?  Wild ones?”  </p><p>Michonne nods.  “Cumberland.  Probably not the best to live on, but one of the vacationer ones?  If we get lucky and it’s only locals, or the locals evacuated to wherever they got ordered off to, could have a ready made barrier.  I rented a place down on Jekyll Island last year for a couple of weeks after I wrapped up an ugly case.  Just me and Andre for two weeks.”</p><p>Yet another mention of something that was just her and her boy, no boyfriend around.  While Daryl knows the man might not have had time off and didn’t want to have his family miss out on a nice vacation, something tells me it had nothing to do with why it ended up a mama and son vacation.  “Bet that was damned expensive.”</p><p>“It was, but I started to understand why people buy properties down there even though you couldn’t actually own the land.  A little out of my price range, with branching out to my own firm, but it was a goal.”</p><p>It’s one of those contrast points between them, the one that bothers Daryl sometimes the way he knows her skin color irks Merle even under their working truce.  Daryl has a GED and a string of working class jobs, where Michonne has a law degree and a steady climb to owning her own damned law firm.  It doesn’t matter that his skills are more than necessary now.  There’s forty-plus years where men like him weren’t considered as important as those in suits and ties that he can’t quite shed yet.</p><p>Daryl knows it’s even more stupid to dwell on, because not once has Michonne behaved with any of the snooty behavior he’s come to expect from women of her social class.  Instead of passing along requests to get things done and leaving, like she does with Merle, she takes the time to sit down and chat with him.  At first he thought it was him being nice to Andre, and maybe that started this little friends thing they have going, but over half the time they aren’t even talking about her son anymore.</p><p>“Andre like the ocean?” he says, opting for the safety net of the toddler instead of his own jumbled thoughts.</p><p>“Oh, boy, did he ever.  Place had a pool, because you can’t go on the beach at high tide, and you would’ve thought I was trying to dump him in boiling oil to try to offer that to swim in.”</p><p>The idea of the boy turning stubborn about an artificial swimming area when he had an entire ocean to play in makes Daryl laugh.  “Smart boy.”</p><p>Conversation drifts off, but Michonne ends up sitting out his watch shift with him, leaving only shortly before because Andre wakes up from the nap Joanna convinced him to take.  He follows her down as one of Merle’s soldiers climbs up.</p><p>“Keep a close eye out, AJ,” Daryl warns.  “Think they’re starting to get restless down in the city, and there’s too damn many people here to stay hidden.  Like putting out a buffet.”</p><p>The redheaded kid nods solemnly.  A private second class in the actual Army, not a Guardsman, the young Texan is rarely far from Merle or Corporal Irving.  AJ Ford is only eighteen, graduating from basic training at Fort Benning right as the world went to hell.  Never got released to go home to his family, and sent off to the Atlanta Refugee Center on a supply run that put him in harm’s way of the napalm.  He’s the reason the Guardsmen got as many evacuated as they did, thanks to a friend at Benning warning him things were about to go really world ending.</p><p>“We’re leaving in the morning, right?” AJ asks, looking worriedly at the bodies they haven’t dragged off yet.  Yesterday, when the kid took over from Daryl, there were seven.  Today there are thirteen.   He shifts the bow Daryl snagged on a raid into a sporting goods store, one of the few experienced hunters here familiar with a silent weapon.  Years growing up in a hunting mad family in Texas definitely mean the kid isn’t your average new soldier.</p><p>“Seems like.  Think we’re going east to the shore.  That gonna be a problem?”</p><p>AJ shakes his head.  “My father would have my ass if I tried to go all the way to Texas on my own, and I sure can’t ask anyone to try that.  I can get home when things are safer.”</p><p>Daryl thinks about the ocean and Michonne’s confidence it’s safer.  “Maybe you can teach yourself to sail, out on the coast.  Sail all the way back to Texas that way.”</p><p>The idea makes the kid beam at Daryl.  “Yeah, wouldn’t that be awesome?  Wouldn’t even need fuel that way.  Head right into the Galveston area.”</p><p>Leaving AJ to consider the idea of turning Navy instead of Army, Daryl just grins a little.  At least it’s something to keep AJ from being so glum every time he looks west.  Having Merle right here underfoot makes Daryl realize just how bad it could have been.  What if Merle had been in jail at the time, instead of just getting out of a thirty day stint in county?  Jesus Christ, jailbreak isn’t a skill he ever wanted to learn, but he would have, to get Merle back.</p><p>When Andre escapes motherly oversight to tackle him around the knees, Daryl knows if he’s honest, he would go to those same lengths for the boy.  Maybe his mama, too, although admitting that around Merle is a can of worms he isn’t yet going to open.  That’s a level of friendship he thinks goes beyond Merle’s ‘working relationship’ approval of Michonne’s ability to organize all these idiots into something resembling order.</p><p>Like most things with his brother, Daryl figures he’ll deal with it later and swings Andre up onto his shoulders, content to enjoy the little boy’s delight at his company.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In keeping with how I usually write Daryl, he's unlikely to suddenly start eyeing Michonne as a potential bedmate.  That'll be a bit of slow going (timewise, maybe not chapter wise, since we'll have time jumps).</p><p>We're running way behind the other two stories still... I may end up having to double up to get this one running even with Shane and Lori's arrival on the coast.</p><p>Also!  Excluding the Kingdommers, who I have other plans for due to Shiva, any specific Virginia characters y'all as readers want to see saved, aside from my usual favorites, some of which might show up separately from this initial exodus from Atlanta?  I have a good chunk of OCs going here with Corporal Irving and Joanna (and potentially Joanna's family and the baby soldiers).  I am more than happy to repurpose favorite characters from other seasons here (including Woodbury) rather than make up a bunch of OCs.  Likely all the baby soldiers will be young adult characters from the show, possibly age-adjusted if needed.  I'm considering the same with Joanna's daughters.... the mention of the Grady character in Joanna's extended family is on purpose.  o.O</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. He Deserves More</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A general meeting about logistics leads Michonne to an intense conversation with Merle about Daryl that she definitely didn't expect.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <span class="u">June 30, 2010</span>
  </b>
</p><p>It took four days to reach the coast, including a wide detour around Savannah that makes Michonne glad she didn't aim for one of those islands.  The walker population isn't as bad as Atlanta, considering Savannah had a population of less than half Atlanta and a much smaller metro area that was ordered to evacuate across the state line to Jacksonville.  But the numbers are still high enough to make Merle pale and shake his head, so Michonne gave the order to skirt around the port city.</p><p>Getting a tour of the countryside could be considered a bonus, Michonne supposes.  They weren't hurting for supplies for the journey, because the Stone Mountain camp relying on Merle to organize supply runs meant he and Daryl squirreled away at least a month's worth for those leaving the same way they did for those staying.  Merle and the young soldiers also commandeered every military vehicle they found capable of still running.  They left Atlanta with forty people, five military vehicles, and two diesel RVs that served as transportation and sleeping quarters for the children of the group.</p><p>Too many of those children are orphans, nine of the nineteen, with parents either known to be dead or presumed so.  One thing she has to do when they finish taking the island is to make sure they all have guardians, because she isn't adopting the entire flock of them.  Although it will never cease to be entertaining to see just how many of them follow Daryl Dixon as faithfully as the soldiers follow his brother.</p><p>For now, they've done the same as Stone Mountain: taken over a hotel.  Evacuated and locked up when the virus struck, it was even easier to appropriate for their needs and almost directly off the end of the causeway.  With multiple floors, everyone can leave windows open and let the air circulate, because despite the generator here, no one wants to waste fuel on air conditioning.  It’s been a nice safe haven for the last six days.</p><p>One of the men even cleaned the damn pool and got it tidy for swimming, even though the children and some adults eye the ocean just down the boardwalk with undisguised longing.  Time enough for that once the island is confirmed clear, since the low wrought iron fencing at the pool at least provides some protection for children playing outside under Joanna’s supervision.  They’ll finish fencing the courtyard soon enough for even more area, and eventually the children will be able to leave the hotel grounds regularly.</p><p>“What’s today’s count?” Michonne asks Merle as the man enters the room she’s taken over as her office so long as she continues leading the group.  She likes that it’s mostly windowed and allows her to look out over the pool area.  This small, she figures she can handle most of it.  But soon, she’s going to be leaning more on more than just the Dixon brothers, and she’s already settled on someone, provided Merle doesn’t suddenly buck the truce they have now.</p><p>The big redneck all the baby soldiers have taken to calling “Sarge” ought to look out of place in the elegance of a room used to host indoor/outdoor parties.  Instead, he snags a bottle of water off the antique sideboard and settles into a chair at the meeting table Michonne prefers to an actual desk.  “Thirty-seven walkers.  Give us another week, we’ll have all the houses cleared.”</p><p>“Got lucky that all the hotels evacuated, and the governing authority ordered any non-home owners off the island, didn’t we?” she remarks, making a note on her paperwork and taking the map Merle slides her way to mark off the houses cleared.  That’s just over three hundred walkers put down and hauled off to chuck on the mainland for their final resting place.</p><p>“Did at that.”  He tilts his head, watching her thoughtfully.  “You got something on your mind that involves me.”</p><p>Michonne isn’t sure if she’s losing her touch, or that Merle is just that observant, but it’s probably the latter.  The longer she’s around both Dixon brothers, the more she realizes they’re both almost preternaturally observant.  She represses the sigh, not wanting to reveal any weak points in her decision.</p><p>“What’s left on the island isn’t going to last us on a permanent level.  I want to form teams that aren’t concentrated on your soldiers to seek out supplies.  I’ll need you to train the civilians, all of them, because sending teams off the island means those left behind need to be able to defend the settlement.”</p><p>They have the causeway well and truly blocked in multiple places.  No walkers will get on the island, but it’s always possible for any wanderers to be missed as Merle’s team can’t possibly sweep the entire breadth of the island.  Granted, the gators seem to be helping them out nicely on roamers, but she doesn’t want to rely on that.</p><p>“Got no problem with that.  What’s got you antsy?”</p><p>“I want to make Aaron and Eric co-leaders for the civilian supply run group.  Let them alternate who goes out, since they’ve got a daughter to look out for.”  There’s a strong part of Michonne that wants to be out there herself, but risking Andre’s only parent seems the height of ego and stupidity.</p><p>“So you think I might have myself some sort of tantrum over working with gay men?” Merle asks, voice losing a lot of its country drawl as he goes completely still.  The intent blue gaze finding her makes her shiver.  </p><p>She’s confronted this man before, over the obvious signs of cocaine use she saw in him.  Expecting a fight, he surprised her by handing over the vial in his vest and later a stash that resembled a bit of a variety pack for illegal drug use.  Not once has he asked for anything back, nor has he shown any overt signs of withdrawal.  Daryl’s quiet admission that Merle’s always been able to set it aside is a little amazing, but at the same time makes her more frustrated that he doesn’t seem to have an active addiction to drive a need to poison his body.</p><p>“It did cross my mind, after some of the things you said back at camp regarding race.  Most people with those sorts of prejudices also have problems with sexualities that don’t fit the one man one woman bullshit.”</p><p>Merle scoffs, but his expression shifts from impassive to amused.  “Fair enough.  But you’re asking me to make sure the men can keep themselves and any team members safe off the island, not share quarters with them.  They don’t preach at me, then I don’t preach at them.”</p><p>It may be the best concession she has, and she suspects the mutual benefit behavior he exhibits was learned in the Marines.  She’s never once seen him treat Noah, the only non-white soldier in his little platoon, any differently than the other five young men.  Only Natalie gets somewhat of a boosted treatment, and Michonne suspects it’s due to the corporal damn near killing herself to save her wards, not her rank or gender.  Merle has a particular fascination with acts of extreme bravery, she suspects.</p><p>He doesn’t socialize with Juan, or Joanna and her family, and he’s definitely kept his distance from Aaron, Eric, and their small daughter, Gracie.  But she’s also seen him take the time to converse politely with Andre, Alice, and Marcus the same as he does any of the children who venture to approach him.  Can she really ask more of him than careful politeness?  Probably not.  Not yet.</p><p>“I am going to want any group leaving the island to look for other survivors.  We’ve got too many kids and not enough adults here for long term sustainability.”</p><p>There are nearly two hundred rooms in this hotel, plus a dozen or so suites.  So far they’re only using sixteen of those, since the orphaned children are divided up among the adults that can handle just a few more.  Michonne somehow ended up with two of Daryl’s more persistent ducklings, but she doesn’t mind the pair of sixteen year old girls.  Lydia and Enid are a lot of help with Andre, too.</p><p>She knows some might prefer their own houses, with so many open on the island, but security just doesn’t allow it yet.  Just keeping up with food requires communal living at this point, and if the mechanically inclined are able to set up some sort of long-term electrical grid, they can’t be trying to serve a sprawling population.  Privacy at that level is a luxury not available yet.  Maybe not ever.</p><p>Merle nods after taking a long drink from his water bottle.  “Makes sense.  We got damned lucky that that head doctor gal hitched up to going with us, and the little nurse, but the place is going to need more able bodies in the long run.  We going to run any sort of screening process?”</p><p>She sighs, nodding.  “I’m going to trust you, Aaron, and Eric on the initial meets.  Your military experience and their time in Africa makes you all good judges of what sort of personalities will fit in here.  Once y’all bring a person or group in, we’ll set up some sort of process between Denise and me as a sort of final check on where and how they settle in.”</p><p>“Could be risky,” he warns, expression solemn.  “Some souls hide their darkness better.”</p><p>“I know.  But I think we can catch the worst of it.  We’ve got to have more able bodied adults.”</p><p>“Would be nice to find someone with more than common sense knowledge of that water treatment system on the island.  Without fresh water, this place will become a nightmare.”</p><p>“Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink.”</p><p>Before she can chastise herself for the muttered poetry line, Merle laughs.  “Coleridge did have that figured out.  For now, we’re good.  Water towers all feed into the system and keep up the pressure.  We just gotta hope the equipment for the wells holds up so we can keep them topped off.”</p><p>Recognizing the poem is yet another contrasting view to the rough, uneducated redneck Merle displays more often than not.  Coleridge isn’t exactly the poet most Southern men memorize, even those who actually enjoy literature.  “And the generators?”</p><p>“Be the fuel that runs out first on those.  Those are basic engines, and me and Daryl definitely can handle that.  We’ll scavenge all we find.  But long as we rely on them, we need to collect and store diesel fuel, preferably from the marinas since it’ll last longer.  One day, we’ll happen upon us some engineer type to figure out something better.”</p><p>“Alright.  How do you want to handle training?”</p><p>Merle scratches at the scruff on his chin, standing up and going toward the windows, seeming to stare off toward the ocean.  “Gonna set up a firing range up on the north end of the island, at the old campgrounds.  Should be far enough away not to draw any roamers toward the hotel.  Might even spread the sound out so it can’t be found at all for anyone or anything off island.  St. Simon’s didn’t evacuate as well as Jekyll.”</p><p>That’s an understatement.  When they took a boat to scout the neighboring island, they could see the herds of confused bastards wandering on their trapped little plot of land.  Merle has the causeway over to Brunswick firmly blocked off for now.</p><p>“How young are you willing to train the children on firearms?”</p><p>That gets her an assessing look from Merle.  “Didn’t expect you to want anyone learning that was younger than those two girls that keep pestering Daryl.”</p><p>“In the old world, I’m not sure I would even want them learning, but this isn’t that world.”</p><p>After thinking it over, Merle sighs.  “Ten and up.  Any younger than that, it’s tricky on them understanding the responsibility or even handling the weapon properly.  Might dig up some air guns and slingshots for the smaller ones, and let Daryl trek around teaching them to hunt squirrel and rabbit.  Give them some respect for where their food comes from, before they tackle a firearm.  That rookie cop we brought along knows the beaches enough to teach the kids to glean food from the water.”</p><p>“I’ll announce it at supper then.  You have enough ammo for lessons?”</p><p>“This is Georgia.  We landed enough .22 ammo to teach even your boy’s grandkids to shoot, I think.  Save the higher calibers for off island use.  I’ll start tomorrow, and Daryl can take a few of my soldiers down to the 4H Center to appropriate their archery equipment.  More folks get comfortable with those, the better.  Might even be better for those going out recruiting to have a quiet backup.”</p><p>Finishing up his water bottle, Merle caps it and takes it with him as he heads for the door.  Everything is recycled here.  He looks back at her, something assessing in his gaze.  “Them two girls ain’t the only kids my baby brother is getting attached to.”</p><p>Michonne meets his gaze evenly.  “Andre is very attached to Daryl, too.”</p><p>Too much, she thinks, should something happen to drive a wedge between her and the Dixon brothers.  It’s a fine line she treads with Merle, one that feels like a minefield, because she doesn’t know exactly what the older man’s limits are with the prejudices he openly admits to having.  Her son hasn’t even asked after his father or Terry, but neither of them ever spent the amount of time with him that Daryl does.</p><p>“I’d be mighty upset should he be hurt through that.”</p><p>The way the man’s voice changes, drops in timbre, makes Michonne a little wary.  But how can she fault him for protecting his brother?  She knows if she turns and looks out that window he was looking out earlier, Daryl’s down there supervising Andre in the pool, his own trek around snares he set on the island already netted them supper.  It’s a damned <i>routine</i> now, that he comes by and finds Andre, whether he’s with Michonne, Joanna, or one of the girls, collecting the toddler up just as if it’s his priority to care for him.</p><p>She knows it’s something they actually need to talk about, and from the grim expression of the older Dixon, he knows damn well they haven’t.</p><p>“Daryl isn’t Andre’s father,” she begins, watching Merle’s features carefully.  “And that’s the best comparison in the world I can make.  I have no intentions that he be kept away from Andre.”</p><p>The sigh from the man sounds almost painful.  “He’s real soft where kids are concerned.  Had women use that before, long enough for him to get attached and then get hurt when they traded up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Daryl and I aren’t in a relationship, Merle.”  Christ, the idea of that would probably make the older brother lose his shit, she thinks.  If he wouldn’t even sleep next to her in a refugee tent on separate cots, how the hell would he consider anything between his brother and Michonne?</p><p>“Funny thing is, as abhorrent as that would seem to me before the world ended, it’s the no relationship part that has my hackles up.  Seems even more likely that one day you’re gonna get lonely, and then you don’t need Daryl because you’ve managed to get the boy a proper daddy.”</p><p>Oh.  That was not what she expected.  “I’m not planning on it, but I understand your concern.”  She gets up and goes to that window, looking out at the pool and sees exactly what she expects.  Daryl’s sitting on the side of the pool, legs dangling in the water, watching Andre paddle back and forth in those arm floaties he dug up for the boy somewhere.  Unlike the others enjoying the pool, he’s conceded to poolwear only by long board shorts and a plain blue t-shirt.  He never swims, although he will wade in waist deep with Andre, and he <i>never</i> takes that shirt off.</p><p>“Daryl doesn’t see me like that,” she mutters, half to herself.  She would have to be blind not to recognize that Daryl’s a good looking man.  Hell, Merle’s not half bad, for an aging white man.  But his brother?  Man is almost pretty, yet he never looks at any of the women around him.  As far as she can tell, she’s the only female older than sixteen he even speaks to.</p><p>Merle shocks her by laughing, something torn between actual humor and something raw.  “I think you would be fucking surprised at what my baby brother notices.”</p><p>Startled, she looks away from the window.  “I wouldn’t think you would approve.”  It isn’t just Daryl’s seeming disinterest that keeps her mind from wandering down that route, after all.</p><p>He runs a hand across his close shorn, graying hair and grimaces.  “I spent damn near fifty years believing that the races mixing was a cardinal sin.  Nowadays, I look at Noah and think does it really fucking matter if that boy decides Lydia or Enid is the prettiest thing on the planet?  I can do the math.  Ain’t gonna be such a thing as race in ten years.  Just breathing or not.”</p><p>It’s as close to acceptance as Michonne thinks the man can manage right now.  She can admire that he’s trying for something beyond half a century of backwards thinking ground in so deeply she was surprised he put it aside the way he did for survival.</p><p>The plastic bottle in his hand crinkles under his grip, and Merle clears his throat roughly.  “He deserves more than just a burnt out asshole ex-con on his side.”</p><p>Before she can reply to that, the redneck disappears, shutting the door behind him with a firm thump.  Michonne turns back to the water, wondering just what to do with the knowledge that even Merle Dixon is shifting his once granite solid prejudices.  Down below, her son is screeching out Daryl’s name, cackling as the man splashes him in response.</p><p>What would Daryl’s reaction be if Michonne flirted with him?  There’s a growing temptation to try it now, with no worry that she’ll break the truce between herself and Merle.  The man is downstairs teaching her son to swim.  How much more sexy can a man actually get than that?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Merle, being Merle, hijacked the original idea of this chapter and decided to piss on his own prejudices without any come to Jesus moments from Michonne.  He's ornery that way, dammit.</p><p>In case y'all missed it, I skipped <i>Life is Unthinkable</i> this past week, because this story needed to catch up before there could be another group arriving at the Island.  They'll slot in on their next chapter, the first group to find Jekyll on their own.</p><p>In the requests from last chapter, I've included several children or single parents with children as part of the group of forty Michonne has right now.  Most won't feature much, beyond an occasional mention if Andre is playing with another small child, etc.  Daryl will keep his ducklings around (Lydia and Enid), though, so expect to see them actually show up in future chapters.  In Merle's baby soldiers, in addition to Corporal Natalie the OC and the aged up AJ Ford, you'll see Noah, Zach, Jody (from the prison), and Rory (randomly snagged from Hilltop).  The Chambler, Samuels, and Anderson families are here already, minus the elderly Mr. Chambler, who died at camp, and Pete Anderson, who met the same AU napalm fate as Alpha.  Denise obviously made it, as well as Aaron, Eric, and because I just wanted her here already, Gracie was adopted before the ZA.</p><p>Later groups will be found by Aaron, Eric, and Merle's supply runners, including most of the mentioned favorites like Jesus, Connie, and even a cluster of folks that didn't make it to Woodbury this time around.  Most will not feature highly as part of this story, mostly slotting into nice background spots so you know they're safe and sound and Michonne has enough warm bodies to get all the work done.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Not Letting This Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Newcomers to the island push Merle to spell things out to Daryl about Michonne.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <span class="u">July 14, 2010</span>
  </b>
</p><p>Daryl is more than a little baffled by the fact that Michonne keeps flirting with him.  At first, it was only when he was alone with her, so it didn't happen too often.  So he played along, just a bit, because she's a beautiful woman, and he's a cautious man, not a stupid one.  </p><p>But it was always carefully, safely playful.  Nothing that committed either of them.  Merle doesn't seem to mind they're friends beyond what they need to be to work together.  Hell, he's about half convinced his brother actually likes the woman.  Few people ever call him on his shit and stick with their guns.  Most of those were not shapely women.</p><p>Last couple of days, Merle's amped up the banter he exchanges with Michonne.  If Daryl is mostly sure the woman is flirting with him, he's damned certain that his brother is fucking flirting with Michonne.  The problem is, he can't figure out if Merle is serious or not.  Either way, it is such a juxtaposition of what he's seen his brother do all his life that he's baffled.</p><p>Like every other time people confuse the hell out of him, Daryl takes to the woods to clear his head.  The difference now is that he's got two shadows following him.  It's another change in his life that he can't quite figure out, why two teenage girls see him as some sort of role model to emulate.</p><p>Michonne obviously approves, considering she's got both girls living with her and acts as if he's their joint guardian with her.  She also blatantly suggests he take the girls along outside of the larger teaching groups he runs to teach the other kids.  But it means he rarely has time to himself to think, since he even shares a room with Merle.</p><p>"Do you think we'll be able to try the other islands one day?" Enid asks, fingers nimbly setting the snare.  "I mean, we can only hunt this one so long, right?"</p><p>Daryl nods, not needing to correct her work like he did the first few times.  "We're already taking more rabbits than I really like. They breed fast, but even they have limits."</p><p>Glancing at Lydia, he notices she isn't paying close attention.  Unlike Enid, who had a relatively normal life before one parent died of the virus and the other in the bus crash leaving the refugee camp, the other girl sees being orphaned as a relief.  Daryl hasn't gotten all the details yet, but her reactions to loud voices or sudden moves tell him it's a good thing her mother didn't make it this far. He doesn't want to explain to Michonne why he would have fed the woman to a walker.</p><p>"Lydia?  Something wrong?" His question draws Enid's attention as well.</p><p>"Can you hear that?" Lydia turns from where she's been staring across the river channel.  "It's not walkers.  I think I hear voices."</p><p>"Take cover." Daryl's order is automatically given as soon as he tunes in to the faint sounds at the small marina opposite.  While the river provides some protection, the distance isn't so far a good rifle couldn't make the shot.  No sense being targets until they've sussed out if the voices come from friendlies.</p><p>Both girls fade into the underbrush just as he's taught them, while Daryl takes advantage of an overgrown scrap of fencing to stay close to the water.  Pulling the military grade binoculars out of his day pack, he studies the small group as they appear, all moving cautiously.  The situation reminds him of a flaw in their human oriented security: no one's removed the boats from the marinas around them yet. Hopefully, it's an oversight he can bring up later.</p><p>The group seems to be two men and two smaller figures that he can't tell if they're girls or women.  From the way one is dressed, he doesn't think much of her survival skills.  What idiot leaves that much skin exposed to the insects, much less the roaming dead?  The tallest of the males seems to be standing guard, eyes scanning the island steadily.  The other man is fiddling with one of the boats, trying to get it to start after months idle.</p><p>The two women are armed and smart enough to fade back to cover when the noises start from the boat's engine.  Daryl wishes he could make out what they're saying. While he's confident he can track these people if they cross the river, the girls aren't that good yet. Plus they'll be able to warn Michonne that someone's trying to bypass the barriers to the island, which includes an honest-to-god military style checkpoint now, staffed by Merle's baby soldiers.</p><p>Since he can't imagine someone trying a river crossing without first checking out the causeway, the group's behavior raises his hackles.  Angling so he can see the girls, he gives them the hand signal he developed for return home.  He adds a count for four, pointing two fingers at his chest and two at Lydia, hoping they get the gender breakdown.  The girls exchange a look, nod at him, and disappear back up the path, knives out and ready.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Daryl continues to watch as they get the boat running. It's a model meant for the river itself, not the ocean beyond, so he isn't surprised when the quartet angles for the shore not far south of him.  Moving as quietly as possible, he finally manages to eavesdrop when a debate erupts between the shorts-clad woman and the tall man wearing camo pants and military dog tags as soon as they're all on the island.</p><p>"Abraham, this stunt is going to get us killed.  At least let Eugene take Becca back across the river.  If we get on the wrong side of the military here, she'll be safe, at least." The accent on the woman makes him think of Texas, with a little dash of native Spanish speaker.</p><p>Daryl almost laughs at himself as the connections form as to why the big man seems familiar.  Those names just fill in the blanks.  Looks like AJ won't have to sail home after all.  Relaxing a bit, he waits to see how it plays out.  He wants to get more of a measure of the man who is military, yet didn't approach a military style checkpoint.</p><p>"Rosita, I'm not putting a river between us.  We're too small a group for that."</p><p>Although she still looks uneasy, she nods reluctantly and turns to the girl.  "Becca, you stay glued to me and keep your knife out.  We don't know if there are rotters here."</p><p>Although he shows none of the same ease with his weapon that Abraham and Rosita have, Eugene does unsheath his machete and move to cover the girl's back.  As the burly redhead starts toward the well worn tourist path, Daryl uses his hard won knowledge of the island to ghost alongside them.</p><p>It's amusing to note that as alert as the two leaders are, it ends up being the unassuming man bringing up the rear who catches any sign of Daryl.  The sound was soft but deliberate, mainly because they're nearing the park where the gator lurks in the pond.  He doesn't want them to unexpectedly encounter the reptile the island's kids have adopted for long range study with binoculars.</p><p>Putting himself between the girl and the noise as best he can, Eugene calls out, "Something is following us.  Or someone."</p><p>They form up a protective triangle around the girl quickly, making Daryl approve.  "Sergeant Abraham Ford?" he calls out, wanting to defuse it quickly before the big soldier decides to hell with noise and goes for that M4 rifle over his shoulder.</p><p>"Might be.  Who the hell is asking?" Now that Daryl's given away his location, the group rotates enough for the big man to be closest.</p><p>Stepping where he can be seen, Daryl shows both hands to show he's not holding a weapon.  "Daryl Dixon, but that's not important.  Your son AJ saved a lot of lives back in Atlanta."</p><p>"AJ…" </p><p>The man trails off, even as his daughter pushes around to look at Daryl, expression so openly hopeful it makes his heart ache a little.  "Is he here?"</p><p>"He is.  Even on the island today, not out scavenging with his group." The open relief on the two Fords' faces almost makes Daryl smile.  "C'mon.  Let's get y'all up to the hotel before half the calvary arrives because the girls went off to alert them we had visitors coming across the river."</p><p>Even with the newcomers identified, Daryl's glad that the big sergeant falls in stride next to him.  The man frowns as he leads them on a slightly curved trail that branches off.  "Aren't the hotels all on the shore here?"</p><p>"River and ocean, more or less.  But take that path straight to the old park, and you'll find one of the local guardians.  Jaws doesn't like to be startled."</p><p>"Jaws?" Rosita sounds puzzled.  "Isn't that the movie shark?"</p><p>"The kids did get it from the movie, but no, it's a twelve foot gator that's living in the park pond. He doesn't bother us, so we leave him well enough alone."</p><p>"You keep saying kids," Abraham mutters.  "Just how many kids are here?  Folks at that camp in Atlanta thought there were a lot but didn't aim for good odds with military in charge."</p><p>Daryl can't help laughing, hard enough everyone stares.  "Sorry.  Military.  Jesus H. Christ." Merle and his mini mes can't count as military, not in that sense.  He catches his breath as he spots movement ahead and calls out.  "All clear.  Anybody seen AJ?"</p><p>Michonne steps into full view along the path, sliding her katana into its sheath on her back.  "He's down at the range helping with shooting lessons, but I called everyone in when the girls found me."</p><p>He doesn't have to introduce the man at his side, because her astute gaze identifies the family resemblance the same way he did.  AJ doesn't have his father's bulk yet, but he has his height and coloring.  "Sergeant Ford, this is our leader, Michonne Hawthorne."</p><p>The two take each other's measure in a long look before Michonne offers her hand.  "One of our leaders," she corrects. "Welcome to the island, Sergeant.  If your people will follow me, I'll get you settled.  AJ will probably beat us back to the hotel."</p><p>"Be mighty good to finally be off the road a while," Abraham replies, voice gruff with sudden emotion as he slides an arm around the teenager.  "This is my daughter, Rebecca, and our friends are Eugene Porter and Rosita Espinosa. It's been a long journey getting here "</p><p>Michonne gives Abraham that gracious smile that always makes Daryl wish Merle wasn't such an asshole when it's turned his way.  "I can only imagine." As they follow her, Daryl grins when the group startles a bit as Aaron and one of Joanna's daughters step into view, too, their weapons sheathed and holstered.</p><p>The reunion is as tearful as expected, especially with AJ learning about his mother's death back in Texas.  As the new group settles in, enjoying  the ocean breeze after most of the kids have gone to bed, Daryl helps with the plans to make finding a boat nearby much harder for anyone else to access their borders. His attention is only half on the project and half on Michonne sitting with the newcomers. </p><p>Once Merle's sent Aaron and Eric back to relieve their babysitter and spoil their baby, the older man leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and eyeing Daryl with a strong look of disappointment. "I'm guessing I gotta draw you a damned picture, baby brother."</p><p>"What the hell are you talking about, Merle?" The out of the blue pissy behavior puzzles Daryl, who is more interested in watching Abraham and Michonne talking than listening to one of Merle's odd rants.</p><p>"You ignored the woman flirting with you.  Hell, you ignored me flirting with her.  Dammit, boy, are you gonna just stick your head in the damned sand until she gives up and moves on?"</p><p>Daryl isn't sure he could be more surprised if Merle had thrown a punch.  His shock must show, because his brother laughs loudly, drawing attention before his expression settles into a smirk.  He reaches out to slap a hand on Daryl's thigh hard enough to sting, but Daryl doesn't give him the satisfaction of more than a grunt in response.</p><p>"What the hell is wrong with you?" Merle growls.</p><p>"Other than thinking my brother's lost his damned mind?  Nothing." </p><p>"You love that kid, right?"</p><p>Daryl hunches his shoulders, looking away.  As tolerant as Merle has been, he's been expecting this for weeks now.  But while he can handle the barrier between him and his attraction to Michonne, he isn't willing to step away from Andre. He didn't intend to get so attached, but what's done is done.</p><p>So he raises his chin and meets the blue gaze identical to his own.  "Yeah, I love Andre."</p><p>Merle stands, dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder and leaning in close.  "Then I suggest you close the deal with his mama before I decide to test out my new outlook on race being a bullshit reason not to spend time with the prettiest, most badass damn woman on the island."</p><p>Sauntering off, Merle snags a beer from the cooler on the courtyard turned patio before heading off toward the water.  Daryl knows he's gaping, still trying to wrap his mind around Merle's flirting appearing to be fucking serious.  It's a fact that obscures the rest of the statement.</p><p>When that part finally sinks in, he looks up to see Michonne looking his way, brow arched.  Trust her to have caught the interaction between him and Merle.  The smile he gives her isn't one of his best efforts, but he tries.  When he gets to his feet, it's no surprise at all when she's not far behind him, stopping him as he opens his door in the stuffy hallway.  Across the hall, he knows Andre is asleep in her room, snug in bed with the girls to watch him.</p><p>"You okay?" she asks, sliding a hand along the crook of his elbow.  It's one of her normal touches in the last few weeks, snagging him by the arm anytime she talks to him. It always brings her close enough that he can make out the citrus notes in that lotion he first took notice of back in the camp.  She'd be out of it by now, except he made sure to put something similar aside when he found it on a supply run.</p><p>"Did you know Merle is serious about flirting with you?" he asks, tackling the most astounding revelation first.</p><p>Her eyes widen enough that he knows she's surprised.  Considering she hasn't rejected any of Merle's advances, he thinks it's a little odd, but maybe she's as confused as he is. "No.  He and I discussed his changed outlook on certain things, but not in relation to him and myself."</p><p>She squeezes his arm, just a little, and that makes him remember that this casual touching started along with the flirting.  "He talked to you about me?"</p><p>"You, and Andre, and me. Whether or not I was gonna take Andre from you if some interesting man came along."</p><p>"Chonne, you ain't gotta do this to prove that you won't take him away.  Don't have to be a package deal."</p><p>"Jesus, Daryl, do you think I would go there without actual interest in you?" She sounds a little offended, and that's not unsurprising.  He's probably lucky she didn't slap him for what he just said.</p><p>"M'sorry." He reaches up and covers her hand with his, allowing himself to actually enjoy the contact.  "Just having a hard time wrapping my mind around this being a possibility."</p><p>The indignation fades away as she steps closer, and now he can feel her body heat against him.  It ought to be uncomfortable, with how hot the July evening is, but the discomfort he's feeling isn't due to air temperature. He probably shouldn't call it discomfort…</p><p>"Which part?  That Merle wouldn't care if he caught us like this?" Another step, and there's no more space between them, her soft breasts pressing into his chest as her free hand slides against the nape of his neck.  "Or that he would prefer it to be himself?"</p><p>"Both," Daryl manages, breath catching as her fingers stroke the skin on the back of his neck.</p><p>"And which do you prefer?"</p><p>She's tall enough that he barely has to bow his head to claim a kiss, and her response is phenomenal, making him curse himself for being too obtuse to take advantage of this sooner.  As she seeks to deepen the kiss, tongue finding his, it's not until his knees hit the edge of the bed that he comprehends they've been moving backward as they kiss.  He can't be sure who is responsible, so lost in how fucking perfect she feels against him...how good she tastes.</p><p>All the thought he can spare is to check that the door is closed because her hands are under his shirt, sliding across his chest, and Jesus Christ, stopping this now just might kill him, he thinks. There's nothing romantic in the urgent way they shed clothing, almost as if they fear some interruption.  He doesn't have time to think of the scars before he's flat on his back, the room too dark to really see her above him.</p><p>But his hands can find her soft skin, sliding from hip to breast as he cedes control to her.  It's a reward all by itself, because being with her is fucking glorious. Letting her bring them both crashing over the edge, his vision whites out long enough for him to start to feel regret it was over so soon.  </p><p>Before he can work himself up about that, soft kisses along his chest remind him this isn't a weekend bar fuck.  He will be seeing Michonne day in and day out, for as long as she'll have him.  Bringing her in for a kiss, he enjoys the feeling of her stretched out on top of him, their legs entangled… until he hears the door open.</p><p>"Goddammit, Merle," he mutters, rolling them so that Michonne is mostly obscured between his body and the pillow she flips down across her chest with an actual damn giggle.</p><p>Merle's response is to laugh, the bastard, but from the sound, he's still in the little foyer, out of sight of Daryl's bed.  "'Bout damn time. Think I'll just mosey on across the hall tonight."</p><p>The click of the door shutting with only that much commentary surprises Daryl a little.  He ducks his face into Michonne's shoulder, sighing.  She's still amused, because he can feel her laughter more than hear it.</p><p>"Although it would serve him right, please tell me we're at least in your bed?"</p><p>Daryl joins her in laughing, kissing her softly before answering.  "Yeah, it's mine."</p><p>"Good.  Well, since he just volunteered for babysitting, how about we find a light switch, shower, and see about a repeat of that?"</p><p>He can feel her smiling before he kisses her.  "Hell yeah."</p><p>Tomorrow, he might kick his brother's ass, or he might thank him. Either way, Daryl's sure as hell not letting this go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Long and tangled chapter to get just right... I do not write awkward flirting well, so this happened instead. 😁</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Island of Misfit Toys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aaron asks Merle to help him assess a small group of survivors, who send Merle's team further south to find a lone survivor with a very unique way of dealing with the walker population in her area.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Um... Merle's POV.  He went off script... smut happened.  o.O   And Princess's "displays" are a bit different.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>August 20, 2010</b>
  </span>
</p><p>If anyone had ever told Merle Dixon that he would one day encourage his baby brother into a relationship with a woman not as lily white as every Dixon before them, he would have called them a goddamn liar and knocked their teeth out.   It’s not that he never looked at women who weren’t white.  Honestly, show him a man who says they don’t imagine any decent looking woman naked, and he’s thinking they’re either a liar or gay.  Hell, he even crossed the line and slept with a few who never would have fit his daddy’s idea of right and wrong when he was overseas in the Marines.</p><p>But casual sex isn’t anything like what he watched growing between Daryl and Michonne.  It may have started as his brother looking after a fatherless kid, but no one’s ever accused Merle of being stupid who actually knew him.  He caught on before either of those two idiots did.  Daryl’s never been a good judge of the female character, not when they have ‘good mother’ tagged to their list of accomplishments.  His brother would probably give some shrink a novel’s worth of issues on that subject, never having had a decent mama himself.</p><p>Merle does remember when his mother was something more than a broken, chain smoking alcoholic.  His brother wasn’t so lucky.  Dying in that house fire just gave their mama one last chance to mess Daryl’s head up further.</p><p>The closer Merle watched Michonne, working with her to keep their flock of misfits safe, the more he liked the woman, feeling an actual, genuine friendship toward her that he rarely allows himself with anyone.  He meant what he said to her that day, that the end of the world made him reassess long held convictions.  Telling his brother if he passed up on the dreadlocked woman wasn’t just to needle the man into making a move out of jealousy.   If Daryl had balked, Merle just might have tested the waters.</p><p>Now, watching them play happy family with Andre and those two orphan girls, instead of thinking abomination, Merle’s wishing his daddy was alive to see it.  He would rub it in that old bastard’s face on a daily fucking basis.  </p><p>He’s got his baby soldiers to keep him occupied, because even after they got a real live action Army sergeant, none of them seemed to want to replace their ‘Sarge’ with the big Texan.  Loyalty like that is something he can appreciate.  Who fucking cares if he never earned that rank in the Marines because he had a problem toeing the line?  They’re his soldiers now.</p><p>This newest group coming in has his hackles up a bit.  Most of them have sheep almost tattooed on their foreheads, but the big deputy merits watching.  Giving up leadership is a hard thing for some.  It isn’t personal, because Merle still watches Abraham Ford the same way.  Walsh bucks Michonne’s leadership here, and he’ll learn how a Dixon protects his own.  So far, seems the man’s just so fucking grateful to see an honest to God doctor that Michonne could probably ask him to scrub floors for his family’s place here, and the deputy would do it.</p><p>Best thing about the new group was them finding that little lost granddaughter of Juan’s.  The old man’s a stubborn old bastard of the sort Merle can admire, doing well despite still being one legged, but he deserved to have his family back together.  Michonne’s fondness for the man and Lucia is icing on the cake, as far as Merle’s concerned.</p><p>“Hey, Merle, you busy?”   </p><p>Merle arches a brow at Aaron as he drops into the empty seat beside Merle in the courtyard, tipping his half empty beer bottle.  The only thing the other team leader is interrupting is whether or not Merle goes for another beer or heads off to bed in the room he took for himself so that Daryl and Michonne could have the one he used to share with his brother.  “Not particularly,” he drawls.</p><p>“Wanted to see if your team minded taking over my search area tomorrow?  Wanted your opinion on the camp we’ve been watching before we bring them in.”</p><p>“Out by the abandoned submarine base?”  Merle’s curious here, because normally, Aaron is pretty confident in assessing newcomers.  He’s actually the only one of them to bring in survivors, so far, two separate times.  First a group of five, mostly women and a teenager.  All seem fairly good fighters, even with the one being deaf.  Second time was a priest that seems to be missing a few marbles, but he passed Michonne and Denise’s assessment, so the man’s settled in as a teacher now.</p><p>“Yeah.  From what we’ve seen, it’s just five adults and a couple of kids.  But the two men leading…”  Aaron sighs.  “Might be a little rough around the edges.  Just didn’t want to make that call on my own.”</p><p>Considering Merle’s own concerns about the alpha males they already took in, he supposes he understands.  It’s actually a bit nice that Aaron thinks along the same lines.  Not just save everyone, but will these people fit into our community?  Once they bring someone in, they can’t remove the knowledge of the island from them.</p><p>“Maybe we just let my search route slide, and both teams go out.  That way, if they turn out to be a viable group, your team can bring them back, and mine will take up the search.”  Always better to place newcomers with Aaron or Eric than Merle or Abe, now that the big sergeant has his own search team.  </p><p>“I’ll see you in the morning then,” Aaron says agreeably.  Merle watches him return to his husband and daughter, nursing the beer a while longer before heading off to bed.</p><p>Morning finds them forty miles south, studying the small encampment.  Merle has to admire the group’s ingenuity.  Most military installations are abandoned or destroyed now, but this one’s stayed relatively intact.  He suspects the Navy sent everyone they could out to sea, but they’ve seen no sign of any Naval vessels so far.  If they’re still out there, they aren’t interested in civilian survivors.   But after watching them a bit, Merle gives the nod.  “The Latino?  He’s doing more bluff than really being a tough guy.  Probably grew up and got out of a rough neighborhood, but he’s not alert enough to have been there recently.  The other man?  The one with the bow?  Maybe something like me.”  </p><p>Aaron looks over at him solemnly.  “Ex-con?”</p><p>“Yeah.  But I think the other man’s the leader.  He’s the one we talk to.  Man with the bow is his muscle.”  The other adults are two women, both as old as Merle or older, and a mousy man that reminds Merle of the awkward scientist that came in with Ford’s group.  The kids are harder to count, all being kept behind sheltering walls or shrubbery.  That raises a red flag with Merle, though.  “Think they’ve had trouble, though.  Group that hasn’t wouldn’t keep the kids mostly out of sight the way they do.”</p><p>“It would explain some of the behaviors I was worrying about.”  Aaron sighs.  “I hope it’s nothing we have to go take care of.”</p><p>“You and me both.  Let’s go get this done.  Pair off just like them.  You do the talking.  I’ll be the bodyguard.”</p><p>Chuckling to himself, Aaron gets to his feet, leading the way to the single entrance point for the barricaded former Navy Chapel.   Two hours later, Merle’s sending Aaron’s team north with five adults and four children, all survivors of a man forming a town far to the west that fled after finding out he killed as many survivors as he actually took in.  They’d simply taken all the orphaned children in the false town and run with them.  Merle can respect that sort of ballsy behavior, and he doesn’t think he would have convinced them to come to the island without Aaron’s diplomatic skills.</p><p>The leader, Martinez, pointed the way further south to signs of another group on an island past the Florida state line.  They’d seen signs of walkers being cleared out, but never spotted any actual people.  With children to keep safe, Martinez hadn’t taken a risk.  They had plenty of supplies, and only spotted the changes because they were supplementing supplies by fishing the rivers around St. Mary’s and Kingsbay.</p><p>Taking the boat Martinez indicated seems smarter than driving all the way around, since the interstate is always a questionable route anywhere.  With the new information that Jacksonville fell to walkers and then to naval bombardment by Martinez’s best estimate, roads in Florida are probably iffy at best.</p><p>As they cruise the shoreline of Amelia Island, Merle guffaws.  “Signs of dead walkers?  I’m gonna kick Martinez’s ass when we get home.”</p><p>Noah looks toward him, eyes wide.  “Well, technically, they are dead.  He just didn’t mention… that!”</p><p>“Well, they do add character to the place,” Natalie declares from her spot at the helm.</p><p>On a dock jutting out from what was once a seafood cafe, a quartet of walkers are posed at a table, all seeming to be eating dinner and dressed in nice, clean clothes.</p><p>“Someone played fucking dress up dolls with walkers,” Merle mutters even as Natalie finds a docking slip.  “Not sure if we should be impressed or worried.”</p><p>They stay alert as they advance into the island town.  Merle takes point, while Natalie brings up the rear, and their two less experienced soldiers, Noah and Zach, in between.  They find more of the posed walkers, making Natalie more and more amused.  Merle’s a little worried about the girl’s mind at this point, because she keeps snickering and offering suggestions for improvement that are making the boys join in.  </p><p>As they pause to study a cop giving a motorist a ticket, the hair on the back of Merle’s neck raises, and he can tell the moment that Natalie reacts, too.  “Maybe the artist is coming to say hello?” she asks, turning to scan the buildings around them.</p><p>It’s not just laughter that they hear then, but giggling, and Merle turns as well, hearing footsteps.  Everyone tenses, ready for a fight if needed, but something about the laughter… sounds young.  Christ, he doesn’t want to explain shooting a kid to his brother.</p><p>She’s not as young as it sounds, when their watcher finally pops into view from behind the fence surrounding an art gallery.  The higher pitch of her giggling might be due to something skewed mentally, Merle thinks, but in this world?  That’s just about everyone nowadays.</p><p>“Oh my god.  People!  Hi!”</p><p>Like them, the young woman is armed, although she carries a military grade rifle instead of their civilian models.  Spraying bullets randomly isn’t advisable when headshots are required, and a waste of ammo in Merle’s opinion.  But it’s doubtful this woman understands that.  Most don’t, not at first.</p><p>Natalie steps forward when Merle signals her.  The young corporal is probably a better spokesperson to another female than Merle himself.</p><p>“Hello.  Are these your creations?”</p><p>“Yes!  Do you like them?”  She grins broadly, swinging the gun in a way that makes Merle’s balls crawl.  He doesn’t miss the fact that Noah sidesteps behind Merle, not that it would really protect him if she fires that particular weapon.  She’s dressed in a way that really doesn’t suit the weather, some pink fuzzy thing that he thinks doesn’t belong on anyone older than ten unless they’re an extra playing a hooker on some crime drama.  The rest isn’t too bad, denim suited to rough living, but her hair is bright purple, with goggles resting on her head.</p><p>“They’re quite creative,” Natalie replies, smiling that ‘trust me’ innocent smile of hers.  “Redressing them, though.  That takes a cast iron stomach, I think.”</p><p>“Nah.  Just a swab of Vick’s Vapor Rub under the nose.  Learned that from television.”  She finally points the gun more toward the ground, giving Merle and his people a chance to react.  “I haven’t seen anyone since the bombings.  It was something to do, instead of just leaving them to dirty up the streets.”</p><p>“I suppose so.”  Natalie slings her rifle over her shoulder, keeping her hands open.  “We found another group of survivors today that thought there might be a group here that could use some help.”</p><p>The survivor studies the four of them intently, still smiling almost a little too gleefully.  Then again, if they’re the first people she’s encountered since the military bombed Jacksonville, maybe there’s a reason she’s a little off her rocker.  “Why didn’t they say hello to me themselves?  Seems downright unfriendly.”</p><p>“They had children they were looking after, and a bad experience with others before now.”  Natalie shrugged.  “Took some convincing for them to return to our shelter with the rest of our group.”</p><p>“You got other people?  Not just you four?”  The gun finally drops completely, just like Natalie’s, and Merle signals the boys to follow suit as he slings his own rifle to his back.  “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with a small group, but y’all look like you’re on some weird field trip with your dad as chaperone.”</p><p>Merle can’t help laughing at that.  She’s about half right on that, considering the weird duckling type imprint his young soldiers have on him.   It draws the woman’s attention to him instead of Natalie.  “So you aren’t their chaperone, Pops?”</p><p>“Not officially.  Sometimes feels like it,” he adds as Zach and Noah both snicker, probably at him being called Pops.  “We look for other survivors, and if they seem like they’ll be a good fit, take them back to our group.”</p><p>Her smile fades for some reason at that, and she looks lost.  It reminds him of Daryl in a way, and he’s not sure why.  “Don’t need a group if I gotta fit in.”  She starts backing away slowly, one step at a time, but it’s not anger or fear on her face.</p><p>It’s rejection.</p><p>“Girl, if fitting in was a requirement, I promise you, they would have pitched me out to sea a long time ago,” Merle says.  </p><p>“You can say that again,” Noah says, not bothering to lower his voice.  “Michonne would probably paddle the boat herself to throw you overboard after you called her sugar tits that one time.”</p><p>Something halts the woman’s retreat, maybe the humor in Noah’s voice, and Natalie just shrugs when he looks her way, leaving him to continue speaking. “Place we’re at?  It’s like the Island of Misfit Toys. What’s your name, honey?”</p><p>“Princess.  Got another name, but never liked it much.”  She comes back toward them, venturing in close enough to study Merle carefully, ignoring the kids entirely.  “Who is Michonne?”</p><p>“My brother’s better half.”  Merle studies her carefully.  She’s older than he guessed from her appearance and behavior.  Up close, he thinks she’s probably closer to Michonne’s age than Natalie’s.  “She’s in charge of the place.”</p><p>“Not you?”  Princess tilts her head to the left, still studying him intently.</p><p>“No one in their right mind wants me in charge.  I keep us safe.  She keeps us mostly sane.”</p><p>Whatever she’s looking for, she must find, because she thrusts a hand out him and he takes it.  “Mostly sane.  I can handle mostly sane.”  Holding his hand past the need for the greeting, she winks at him.  “Ever gonna tell me your name, handsome?”</p><p>“Oh my god.”  It’s Noah who mutters that, but Zach echoes it quickly, both of them sounding like much younger teenagers gagging at older people flirting.  Natalie dissolves into a fit of giggles.</p><p>Merle just smiles slowly.  “Well, Princess, my name is Merle.  Let’s take you home.”</p><p>When they get back to the island, their newest recruit spends a disturbingly long time with Michonne and Denise.  Princess was happy enough to disarm as far as her gun, but weirdly panicked when he left her alone with the two women.  Chivalrous impulses have never been Merle’s thing, so he resists promising to stay.  Michonne will look after the woman just fine.</p><p>It doesn’t surprise him when Princess avoids him at supper, staring at the empty seat next to him after getting her plate.  She shakes her head and goes to sit elsewhere.  Somewhere along the way, she showered and changed.  The weird pink jacket is gone, but she’s still dressed in layers.  Something about long sleeves in the heat makes him wonder if there’s a reason she spent so much time with the resident shrink.</p><p>The flirting was obviously just to see if she could rattle him, so Merle shrugs it off and spends the evening as he always does.  A game of cards with a few of his soldiers, a beer he’s left mostly solo for, aside from Daryl bringing him a fresh one in his usual nightly inspection to make sure Merle hasn’t wandered off to do something stupid.  He ought to harass his brother for it, but he’s fairly sure Michonne might redecorate him with her katana if he makes Daryl retreat into his shell again.</p><p>The absolute last thing he expects when he steps out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel is Princess stretched out on his bed, thumbing through the pages of a magazine.  Glancing up at him, the playful and flirty smile fades almost instantly, and she drops the glossy pages to the floor as she stands and comes to trace a finger along his lower ribs  The heavy scar there is fairly identifiable as being from a jagged cutting implement.</p><p>“It’s not the only one you’ll find, Princess,” he drawls, keeping his voice even.  He doesn’t like that one touched, but she doesn’t know that.  This damned new leaf he’s turned over that seems to give him a conscience speaking in Michonne’s calm, even tones keeps him from his usual deflection to send a woman’s hand much lower and away from the lifelong symbol of just how little his father valued his sons.  He’s gentle when he removes her hand, holding onto it instead of being crude.</p><p>When she looks up, Merle realizes she’s got the darkest brown eyes he’s ever seen, framed by thick lashes.  When she smiles, it’s got none of the brash flirtation she was sending his way.  “Guess we can be a matched pair, then, old man.”  She unbuttons one of her sleeves, rolling it up to show a peppering of scars one only gets from a life spent in hell.</p><p>Merle grips her wrist, running a thumb along one of the scars, but focusing on her instead of the mark.  “You just here to flirt with the old man, sugar, or are you looking to stay the night?”  Some things really need to be spelled out right up front.  He suspects it might be the latter idea, since she obviously knew he was showering and stayed anyway. </p><p>Her answer involves his towel hitting the floor.  His is to peel her out of those layers, ignoring that she bears as many scars as he does, if a little less death defying.  She’s loud and vocal as he explores all that bare skin, completely unafraid to outright demand and direct him.  By the time he eases back up to settle between her welcoming thighs, the neighbor on the other side has already banged on the wall once in response to her enthusiastic commentary.  Once he adds his own brand of filthy encouragement, there’s a dull thud of a slamming door.  </p><p>Lack of an unwilling next door audience doesn’t stop them one bit, and being older just means he can outlast her, sending her shaking more than once.  Merle suspects that by tomorrow, he’s going to have no neighbors at all, and he doesn’t fucking care.  The pure, unbridled enthusiasm isn’t something he’s had in bed in a long time, not with most of his encounters being quick fucks usually while high or drunk.  When his body finally finds its release, he doesn’t immediately roll away and try to offend her into leaving, like he would have done before.</p><p>Princess smiles up at him.  “Not bad for an old man,” she says, letting the smile shift to a smirk as she rubs her fingers along where his shoulder meets his neck.  There’s the distinct sting to show him that she’s marked him.  Hickey or teeth, who knows?  He sure as hell doesn’t care.  </p><p>“Pretty sure you can kiss Disney princess goodbye from your resume, darlin’.”</p><p>She just laughs, wriggling her hips beneath him.  “Don’t think you’re objecting to that.”</p><p>“Hell, no.  Ain’t that stupid.”  Easing away to lay beside her, Merle chuckles himself.  “You going or staying?”</p><p>Uncertainty crosses her features, erasing enough of her blissful expression to make him grumble and reach for the sheet to drag up over them both.  It’s hot, but the air shifting from the fan bugs him on bare skin.  “Stay your ass put, Princess.  Been a while since a pretty little thing wanted to actually stay the night.”</p><p>As he dozes off, she’s relaxed enough to curl against his chest, fingers stroking that damned scar again.  This time, he doesn’t move them away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All is not roses and sunshine for these two yet...  They might actually manage conversation in another chapter or two.</p><p>In the comics, Princess came from an extremely abusive home, and while the show hasn't explored that background yet, I'm using it here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Lowest Possible Expectations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Princess eases into an undiscussed relationship with Merle, but it hits a bump from an overprotective Daryl and Michonne.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Normally, I don't rewrite scenes directly from an alternate POV, but this chapter does go back over Princess's first evening on the island from her POV.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>August 20-29, 2010</p><p>Princess has never claimed to be a conventional type of person.  Blending in never helped her escape notice when she wanted to, so once she was eighteen and on her own, she's made it a point to bend to no one's rules but her own.  Accepting the invitation to a small community like Jekyll was bound to be harder to adapt to than living in a large city where she could get lost among the population.</p><p>Her first instinct after the leader and psychiatrist poke around her head and her past is to blend in.  She sheds her goggles and pink coat, leaving herself clad in just the uniformly faded blue denim of jeans and long sleeve shirt.  Until she knows more, standing out seems too risky.  To decide if she wants to stay, she needs more information.</p><p>Although she was intrigued by the older man the young soldiers seem to hold in admiration and affection, she backs off and watches.  It's her first night on the island, and she doesn't know much about anyone here.  For all she knows, he's got a wife and kids here.  Lack of a wedding ring is never a good indicator, as the relationship between his brother and the community leader shows.  The fastest way to be ostracized or exiled is to be interested in some other woman's man.</p><p>Merle really is a bit of a misfit even among his own people.  He's not excluded, but other than a brief encounter with his brother, she doesn't see anyone other than more of those young soldiers.  They really are soldiers, too, not just playing at it.  She's intrigued by the man's odd isolation.</p><p>It turns out he's her neighbor, of sorts, because she sees him going into a room two doors down and across the hall.  He'd liked it when she flirted when they first met, but he hadn't pressed the issue. She's not entirely sure, but she suspects implying he was old enough to be the soldiers' father is correct, but she never has nightmares when she's sleeping beside someone.  Maybe he's the type that sleeps after sex.</p><p>Waiting for him to get out of the shower lets her work up a series case of nerves.  What if he rejects her?  Flirting doesn't always mean actual sexual interest.  But then she sees his scars, and there's no mistaking the marks that cigarettes and belt buckles leave behind.  She has those, too.  </p><p>Sex with men has always ranged from painful to boring, with her left to take care of her own needs herself after the man's grunted his way through his own pleasure.  Women are better, more creative without all the insert tab A into slot B nonsense.  It's what she expects, especially as rough around the edges as Merle seems, but instead?</p><p>He's as skilled with his tongue as any girlfriend she ever had.  And the moment she gets vocal and praises his efforts, loudly, he only increases them.  Their neighbor is offended by the time she's had her first orgasm, but she doesn't care.  She still expects it to turn boring when his weight settles over her, but it doesn't.</p><p>By the third glorious orgasm, she's so boneless and relaxed that she doesn't even register he's climaxed himself for sure until after he moves away. The invitation to stay the night is crudely put, but it's given.  When she curls against his broad chest, he surprises her by not only staying awake, but pressing a kiss against her temple.  She falls asleep against him despite the heat, and no darkness traipses through her dreams.</p><p>She spends the day teaching a gaggle of teens and older kids how to find clams with nothing other than their own bare toes.  It's hilarious and fun, and somehow gets her permanently assigned to working with kids in general.  That's fine with her, because she likes kids better than adults most days.  That night with Merle is a repeat of the first, just without the offended neighbor.</p><p>By the third night, she brings her bag from the room she's only used for showering and changing clothes.  Merle doesn't object.  The sixth night she falls asleep at his side without sex happening at all. She unpacks her things and settles them alongside his, and she thinks Merle either doesn't care or doesn't notice.</p><p>Three nights later, she's dozing against his side, content enough to purr.  It's not a sex night, because those only happen if she initiates, but Merle's stroking her back along her spine as he reads from a battered paperback. He's shirtless, and that gruesome scar is right beneath her right hand.  Rubbing her thumb along the twisted flesh, she wonders if he would give her a truthful answer if she asked.</p><p>When he closes his book and reaches to turn off the lamp, she doesn't expect anything more than good night.  Instead, in the darkened room, he speaks.  "You should return that key to Michonne, Princess.  No sense taking up another room if you're content to tie yourself to an old asshole like me."</p><p>She stiffens a little at having her quiet move into his territory acknowledged, and there's another of those oddly tender kisses pressed to her temple.  It makes her relax enough to quip, "I can't argue the old, but I will argue the asshole part.  Although you could just be getting soft in your old age."</p><p>Merle just chuckles, the sound echoing beneath her ear.  "I'll be fifty-three in January, sugar.  No one's gonna argue the old, even if I am shacking up with a gal twenty years younger."</p><p>It makes her wonder if he would be as accepting of this if he realized it's closer to thirty years between them than twenty.  No one's asked her age other than Michonne and the shrink since she came here.  "My birthday is in January, too.  The twenty-fourth." Twenty-four on the twenty-fourth, funny enough, but she doesn't volunteer that part.</p><p>"Mine's the thirteenth." </p><p>She can feel him yawn, and she knows he had a long day, but he never falls asleep before she does.  It makes her wonder if he knows about the nightmares, somehow, but she hasn't woken to any since she's been sharing his bed.  Pressing a kiss against the side of his neck, she smiles in the dark and lets herself fall asleep in the safety of that warm, heavily muscled arm draped over her back.</p><p>Aside from her first and second day here, Princess hasn't crossed paths with Michonne. Once she was assigned to working with the kids, her duties each day are doled out by a tall, skinny brunette who's coupled off with a former deputy who dotes on her and her teenager.  She likes Lori well enough, mostly because the woman doesn't seem to care about her checkered work history before the virus.  Carl's one of her favorites among the kids that she takes clamming, crabbing, and fishing.</p><p>All things considered, Princess opts for avoiding Merle's family by asking Lori if she'll take the key the next morning.  It's not unreasonable, since clamming is best at low tide.  She'll return the kids once the heat starts to really set in, for a few actual classroom style lessons before whoever takes over after lunch.</p><p>It even works, because Lori doesn't think anything of it.  She takes the lanyard with its dangling key and wishes them luck with the clams.  Princess and the kids return with buckets worth of food that will make for a tasty supper.  </p><p>The kids wander on with their buckets, while Princess refills her water bottles and rechecks her pack.  With most of the day up to her own devices still, she tends to wander the island.  Clearing useful bits out of the houses is encouraged, but many don't like doing it.  It probably explains why almost everyone still lives in the hotel even after the engineering types got some sort of hydroelectric going that can power the whole island as long as people don't fire up the air conditioning.</p><p>Having Michonne fall into step beside her as she heads down the street was not in the plans.  The timing means it's got to be related to that returned key. </p><p>The older woman smiles at her.  "You spend most of your days alone."</p><p>"Island's safer than the other was," Princess says, uncertain of what else to say.  "Plenty of time to socialize after supper."  Finding herself a niche hasn't happened yet, but no one has been less than welcoming if she joins them for supper or anything like cards or a board game afterwards.</p><p>"I don't question your ability to defend yourself." Michonne sighs, and Princess wonders how long the woman has been involved with Daryl.  The toddler calls him by name, so it's at least more recent than that.  "I just wonder if we're making best use of your skills.  Normally, you'd be offered a spot on a run team, but that hasn't happened."</p><p>Princess shrugs.  "It did.  I told Merle I preferred not to for a while.  It's nice, not having to be so hyper alert. Only things I gotta worry about here are snakes, wildlife, and which girl Carl is crushing on that day."</p><p>The last bit makes Michonne laugh, but the amusement doesn't stick.  "Oh.  Merle didn't mention he asked."</p><p>They walk two more blocks toward where Princess is headed for the day's search and catalog.  The other woman doesn't seem to know how to broach the topic she wants, and Princess can't stand the wait.  "Is this about me returning my key?"</p><p>"Yeah.  I just wanted to make sure you understand you don't have to.  It's a good idea to keep your own space, especially with someone like Merle."</p><p>That makes her stop walking entirely.  "Someone like Merle?" she knows her voice is dropping into that careful politeness that she used with tricky customers at work. Her stomach rolls uneasily.</p><p>"He hasn't been sober that long."</p><p>"If that's all, who cares?  You obviously trust him to run security." Princess frowns, trying to puzzle this out.  </p><p>"It's generally a bad idea for an addict to begin a relationship.  We don't want him to relapse when things end between you."</p><p>That uneasy feeling isn't confined to her stomach now.  Michonne said when, not if.  She counts to ten and still can't manage a suitable response.  All that comes out is a flat toned, "When."</p><p>It gains her a sympathetic smile.  "That's not a reflection on you.  But with Merle's past, plus the age difference. I know he can be charming when he wants to be, but moving you in with him?  It's concerning.  You didn't even have time to settle in."</p><p>As nicely as it's phrased, couched in protectiveness toward her, Princess doesn't like the gentle 'hands off' message she's getting. Maybe she doesn't know Merle the way Michonne and Daryl do, but her life has taught her to sense the rotten in people.  Merle's flirted with that edge, but she doesn't think he's crossed it. "I thought shovel talks were supposed to be on behalf of your family, not against them."</p><p>That hits home, and Michonne grimaces as she holds out the lanyard. "Just hang on to the key."</p><p>Shaking her head, Princess leaves the woman standing, praying she won't follow.  Michonne doesn't, and as soon as Princess makes a turn onto a side street, she decides to hell with work today. There's a big resort on the river side of the island, a sprawling place they've been leaving untouched.  She's wanted to explore, but since she's so new, she's been being good.  </p><p>Today, she doesn't feel like being good.</p><p>It also means that she lazily watches the sun set while sprawled on a chair in some room that's all sorts of historical to a nation that no longer exists.  Her booted feet are on the table, even as her stomach grumbles.  It's well past supper time, and everyone is supposed to be back by dark.</p><p>While she isn't too concerned with most of the people here, she suspects the kids will be alarmed if she doesn't reappear.  They'll have missed her at supper if no one else did.  Getting to her feet, she shakes her head at the room.  It's pretty, in that overblown, insanely rich folks sort of way.  Too big, too cold, too much.</p><p>Shouldering her pack, she heads slowly back to the hotel in the increasingly dim light.  It's full dark by the time she steps through the doors, and somehow, she isn't surprised to see Daryl leaned against the interior set of doors.  "You been propping those up long?"</p><p>His gaze is intent when he focuses on her.  It's one of the few features he shares with his brother: bright, clear blue eyes.  "Just since supper ended without you back."</p><p>Daryl is an outlier like herself, she thinks.  Michonne leads the place, with Merle overseeing all things off island and any defense left behind.  There's a couple more who seem in charge of other things, like Lori keeping track of all the children, the shrink all the medical, and a lady Princess still hasn't directly met covering supply organization.</p><p>Like Princess, Daryl roams.  She likes anything coaxed or caught out of the river or the sea, and the vacant, empty places that once held people.  He prefers to hunt things with fur and wild edibles gleaned from places people rarely went at all.  They're the same, yet entirely different at the same time.</p><p>"So which direction are you aiming your shovel?  At me or at Merle?" Acting like she doesn't care is harder than with Michonne.  The woman was something fancy before, probably a CEO or lawyer or something.  She's epically smart, but it's not the same sort of intelligence she sees in the man before her.</p><p>Like that sense of kinship she snapped into with Merle the second he stepped out of that bathroom and she saw scars like her own, Daryl's been there, too.  Her guess is that none of them responded the same way, though. </p><p>"Thought it would be better coming from a woman," he says at last.</p><p>Normally, Princess is a people pleaser.  She likes people smiling and happy, because it's a vibe that soothes her.  It makes her a chameleon in a lot of ways.  There's just something so wrong that Merle's own family isn't standing by him.</p><p>"You know what happens when you always look at someone with the lowest possible expectations?" she asks softly.</p><p>Daryl's eyes narrow as his jaw clinches.  He knows alright.  Probably faced the same damn thing she did.  Trash stays trash, after all.</p><p>"Thought so.  Maybe you should try expecting something better of your brother and see if he can deliver."</p><p>She gambles on Daryl not being the type to block a woman's path and steps forward.  The hunter side steps, leaving her way clear.  She thinks perhaps he's not going to speak again, but she's halfway across the lobby when he calls out to her.</p><p>"He's old enough to be your father, girl.  Hell, I'm old enough for that.  I know my brother.  He's gonna get bored soon and break your heart."</p><p>It's funny how she and Merle haven't spoken one word about longevity beyond him being agreeable that she moved into his room, yet that's sparked all this. "It sounds like you're saying I'm not good enough for your brother." It's twisting what he said, but she's getting angry and hurt, and he won't let her escape to be away from the source of her distress.</p><p>Daryl makes a pained noise.  "Didn't say that at all."</p><p>"Sure sounded like it to me." Now she wishes she hadn't said it, because it's all she can think about.  Taking advantage of Daryl's fumbling for a reply, she yanks open the stairwell door and scurries upstairs.  Merle never locks his door, which is good, as she has no key.</p><p>Dropping her pack and kicking off her boots, she loses the energy that propelled her upstairs to her safe haven.  The opposition from Merle's family only dredges up her insecurity over how she slipped her way into his life and hoped he would let her stay.  Maybe she really is the Jezebel her mother swore her to be, gravitating to a man in good standing in the community in her effort to fit it. </p><p>Daryl ought to know Merle better than anyone else in the world, and he predicts his brother will grow bored with a girl so drastically younger than him. It makes sense, because other than the world's shittiest childhoods, what does she really have in common with Merle?  Sex doesn't even seem to be his primary interest. Curling up on the bed, she hugs Merle's pillow to her chest and cries.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter gave me all sorts of fits, but I had to remind myself it's a bridge to deeper content for our second Dixon couple. </p><p>Princess's age is never given, so I opted for making her near the actress's age but a little younger and Merle near his actor's age at the start of TWD for the impact of that very broad age gap.</p><p>Michonne is rather correct that addicts are counseled against forming new romantic relationships in the first year of recovery.  Merle's a bit atypical, so his issues will be different than replacing drugs with new relationship euphoria.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Won't Claim To Be a Good Man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Merle actually finds himself curious about why Princess is upset.  He follows it up by having a little chat with his brother.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <span class="u">August 29-30, 2010</span>
  </b>
</p><p>There was a time when Merle wouldn’t have given two shits about coming to bed and finding the woman he shacked up with had cried herself to sleep.  Hell, he’d have just about patted her on the back for not involving him in whatever emotional upheaval she was in the midst of.  Somehow taking responsibility for his little troop of soldiers managed to sprout his long dead empathy into something viable again.</p><p>The timing everything sets his teeth on edge.  Telling Princess he’s good with her sticking around and finding her asleep, fully dressed down to her boots, curled around his pillow like some damn teddy bear?  He’s immediately suspicious, especially since she didn’t show up for supper.  They may not be joined at the hip like his brother and his lady, but he does pay attention to where Princess is in the evenings.</p><p>She wakes instantly when he touches her calf, but once she recognizes him, she’s pliable as hell when he unlaces those heavy combat boots of hers and eases them off her feet.  Those big brown eyes just watch him, staying half closed even as he shucks her out of the denim overshirt and jeans.  He kicks his own boots to one side, dropping his clothes beside them.   She doesn’t mind his habit of sleeping nude, although if they don’t screw around before they sleep, she tends to sleep in panties and a t-shirt.</p><p>“Wanna shower with me, sugar?” he offers.  </p><p>As sleepy as she looks, he figures she’ll say no, but she sits up, tossing her shirt and bra to the overflowing basket in the corner.  Her panties follow, flipped with a quick flick of her toe.  He watches the show, just like he always does if she gets naked in front of him.  It’s like a self unwrapping present, seeing all that skin appear bit by bit.</p><p>One thing about the island’s summer heat is that they don’t need to wait on hot water to shower.  She presses against his back quickly under the lukewarm water, a clever hand going to cup his family jewels just the way he likes.  He grunts softly, still a little on edge, and captures her hand.  When he moves it away, she sobs behind him, leaning against him, and he feels guilty for that, but something’s wrong and he needs to make sure it’s not him before sex is back on the table.</p><p>Despite forty years of practice at ignoring feminine tears, a skill initially learned to save his own sanity, Merle turns.  She looks so young with the shower wetting down her dark hair, and she stuffs a fist against her mouth to muffle the sound of her crying.  The sight chills him, because he knows why someone cries like that.  </p><p>“Hey now, Princess.  I ain’t gonna tell you not to cry if you need to, but there ain’t no reason to hide it from me.  That wasn’t a no, just a not right now.”  Sending her back into tears hadn’t been his intention at all in stopping her quick shift into something sexual.</p><p>When she drags the hand away from her mouth, he really needs to know it’s not because of him now, so he reaches for her.  She melts into his arms as easily as she ever has, shaking against him but still almost soundless as she sobs.  Their skin is pruned and chilled despite the heat by the time she stops crying.</p><p>“Lo siento,” she says, voice hoarse and raw from crying.  There’s a bit more Spanish, some of which he can loosely translate, but it’s on the same theme.  She’s sorry, and he doesn’t have the first fucking clue why she’s apologizing.</p><p>“Sweetheart, I’m only understanding about every fifth word.  Most of my Spanish ain’t the sort for polite company.”  Considering the source of most of his vocabulary is the Georgia prison system, it certainly shouldn’t be anything the usually bright, cheery Princess would be saying right now.</p><p>She blinks up at him finally, shaking her head a little.  He isn’t entirely sure she realized she wasn’t speaking English.  It’s natural enough, he supposes, since she’s always had just enough of an accent to tell him English wasn’t her native tongue.  “You must think I’ve gone crazy,” she mutters.</p><p>“Nah.  Just not sure if someone hurt your feelings, or if some bad memory crept up on you today.”  He sighs, still not sure what the hell he should do, if anything.  “Maybe we need to finish up in here?”</p><p>Princess nods, reaching for the bottle of strawberry scented shampoo she seems to favor.  Merle knows there’s a variety down in the little commissary, and he’s rather glad she doesn’t like anything floral or that makes her smell like she’s smeared sunscreen in her hair.  It takes her longer to finish than him, because all that wild hair of hers needs conditioner, and his hair is still cut so short he just runs the soapy washcloth over his head before washing the rest of him.</p><p>He likes being done sooner, because he normally can watch her soap up her dark skin.  Tonight, on impulse, he steals her washcloth away, smirking when her eyes widen.  But she lets him, watching with interest as he slowly draws it across her body.  As rapidly as she’s blinking, he realizes this is a turn on for her and files it away for future reference.</p><p>“C’mon.  Get dried off, and I’ll finish what I started, if you want me to.”</p><p>She does want him to, but it’s definitely not the athletic hijinks they normally get up to.  He finds he doesn’t mind, either, but he hadn’t really expected her to stay interested this long.  If she wants soft and slow, he can manage that, too.</p><p>Afterward, she curls against him, hand over that scar she likes to pet.  “Your brother thinks I’m too young for you.”</p><p>Out of all the things he expected to hear, Daryl’s name in conjunction to dissuading Princess away from him was not one of them.  He clears his throat.  “Huh.  Always thought it would be Michonne or one of the other ladies who warned you I was bad news.”</p><p>Princess stills so suddenly, he knows Daryl isn’t the only reason she’s upset.  </p><p>“Look at me, darlin’.”  He recognizes the emotion in her expression all too well.  She’s afraid, not of him, but of whatever everyone’s saying.  “Who messed with you, and what did they say?”</p><p>She repeats her two encounters, and it’s nothing he doesn’t expect, at least as far as Michonne.  They’ve got a friendship going, but he knows the woman is still wary of him.  He doesn’t mind, most days, because he met the bastard that was supposed to be Andre’s father.  Maybe Merle wasn’t made of any better stuff before the world ended, but he never dragged a woman and kid along into all his shit.</p><p>But his baby brother undercutting something decent in Merle’s life?  That’s certainly a new one.  Maybe it’s payback for the times Merle’s hellraising meant Daryl never broke free of their past.  Boy had potential, back when he was young, and the more Merle’s around his soldiers, the more he realizes how different Daryl might have been if he’d just stayed sober long enough to give the boy a chance in the world set against them.</p><p>The problem is that Merle wouldn’t have a single goddamn problem if Daryl came to him and told him to back off.  But cornering Princess after she already told his woman to piss off?  That’s just uncalled for.</p><p>Merle’s not going to add to her troubled thoughts tonight, though.  He sighs, running his hand along her skin.  The scars she thinks make her ugly soothe him in a way.  It’s part of who she is, just like his are part of him.  “I won’t claim to be a good man, Princess.  A good man probably would have considered all those things they’re telling you and never let you get your hands under my towel that first night.”</p><p>The fact that a pretty girl her age looks at him at all is a warning sign, really.  Knowing she’s been abused, he is probably taking advantage of whatever mental hangups the abuse left her with.  But like he told her, he’s not a good man.</p><p>Princess squirms, angling so that she can raise up to look at him without dislodging his hand off her.  “A bad man would have fucked me and sent me on my way,” she says, gaze intent on his.  “Not let me stay and use him to ward off nightmares.”</p><p>“You haven’t had any nightmares.”  That would have woken him, he knows.  Hell, he’s surprised he hasn’t woken her with his own.  He’s got plenty of material, and in the past, when he’s been sober, nights are usually the reason he would end up giving in again.</p><p>“No, I haven’t.”  That damn smile she’s giving him makes him feel like he did something special, instead of just being a willing bed partner.  “Maybe you need to quit thinking so poorly of yourself.”</p><p>He reaches up to pull her down in a kiss that makes her whine and wiggle her hips against him by the time they’re done.  “Maybe you should take your own advice, sugar.  Don’t let asshole do gooders throw you off balance like this.”</p><p>The smile’s even fucking bigger now, bright and cheerful like he likes seeing on her.  It’s like his own slice of sunshine, and he’s man enough to admit he wants to keep her brightness in his life.  </p><p>It dims just a little, though, and she worries at her bottom lip until he puts a stop to it by rubbing his thumb along her lip.  Normally, she’d nip at his thumb, giggling, but tonight, it’s a kiss.  “I gotta tell you something, before you say I can stay.  Something I should have told you last night.”</p><p>“Alright.  Can’t be nothing I haven’t heard before.”  Honestly, Merle really can’t think of a damn thing the girl could say that would have him show her the door.  The one thing that would have been a breaking point once is the thing he knows already, because she can’t hide the color of her skin.</p><p>“I think if I was older, they wouldn’t be so gung ho about warning me off you,” she admits.  “But Michonne knows how old I actually am.”</p><p>“I’m guessing that’s older than eighteen, or they would have had my balls before they ever spoke to you.”  He’d guessed her to be close to Michonne’s age, but hell, he would have guessed the lady lawyer to be in her mid-twenties if she hadn’t made a comment about graduating high school back in 1994.  </p><p>“I’m twenty-three.”  She’s worried when she says it, and he thinks back to the offhand comment about her being twenty years younger last night.  He’d been off by a full decade.</p><p>“If you think that’s going to dissuade a dirty old man out of your bed by admitting you’re younger rather than older, it’s the wrong argument.  You ain’t jailbait, and that’s all I gotta know.”  Her laughter is exactly what he wants to hear.  “Listen to ole Merle right now, sweetheart.  One day you’re gonna wake up and realize there’s better choices that me for a ripe young thing like yourself to be making, and I’m good with the fact that day will come.  Until then?  I got no plans on bailing on you.”</p><p>Regular sex is damned nice, but he’s old enough to know the nearly every night thing they have going isn’t something that will last.  He invited her to make her sneaky little move in permanent because he found he likes having someone to end his day with.  They have their own routines during the day, and knowing that in the darkest part of the night he can roll over and wrap himself around her?  He’s not going to admit it out loud yet, but it’s better than spilling himself inside her willing warmth.</p><p>Princess is happy again, making that soft sound he’d call a purr if she was a cat, and draping over him as if it wasn’t hotter than hell outside.  He doesn’t try to dissuade her one bit.  His brother and Michonne can both go fuck themselves if they don’t like it.  He makes a promise to tell Daryl as much, tomorrow.  Tonight he’s not leaving her to work herself back into the state she was in when he found her.</p><p>Morning marks the first time she hasn’t scampered before he wakes.  Merle chalks it up to the emotional upheaval of the evening before.  She’s groggy and hides under the pillow when he slips out of bed.  He gets dressed, stuffing their shared laundry into his duffle, and drops to a knee on the bed beside her.  </p><p>“Gonna give me a goodbye kiss?” he drawls.  He isn’t surprised when that gets her to peek out from under the pillow, eying him curiously.  Claiming the kiss, he drags a hand down her bare skin, cupping her ass cheek and squeezing.  “Take the day off and be lazy, sunshine.  Ain’t no one gonna begrudge you a day in bed.”</p><p>He thinks she’ll refuse at first.  She’s been pretty regimented in putting in all the right appearances, but yesterday may have broken her angelic good girl routine.  “Maybe I will.  Might go exploring on the river side again, if I get bored.”</p><p>“Might as well.  Everyone’s obsessed with seeing the ocean.  River’s got more life to her, but that’s probably the mountain boy in me talking.”  </p><p>Merle snags the lanyard from around his neck, settling it over her head instead.  All that shit yesterday over a key, so he’ll draw his own line in the sand for her.  She eyes the key as it falls to rest between her breasts, and he knows he’s going to miss breakfast when she rolls to her knees to yank at his waistband.</p><p>She’s on her belly and snoring lightly when he leaves, ass bare to the world.  He admires the view for a few heartbeats and smirks lightly to himself.  His brother expects him to get bored of Princess?  Good fucking luck with that.</p><p>Dropping off the laundry doesn’t take long, and the woman who starts sorting it never bats an eye when she spills out a woman’s clothing along with his own to sort for washing.  Princess’s outfits are fairly distinctive, since no one else braves long sleeves in this heat.  By nightfall, any secrecy they had is probably going to be gone.  It’s a good thing.  Girl’s not his dirty little secret.</p><p>Missing breakfast means most everyone has scattered to their daily routines.  He stops by to tell the skinny chick in charge of the kiddies that Princess is taking herself a personal day, and the brunette nods absently.  “Send ‘em down to the range,” he offers.</p><p>That gets Lori’s attention, but it’s not the judgmental sort he would normally expect from a woman he knows is one cop’s widow and hooked up with another cop even now.   Lady’s got herself a type, obviously.  “Some aren’t old enough for the range.”</p><p>“They can bring their fishing gear.  I’ll spare someone to make sure none of them get the bright idea to swim to Spain or something equally foolish.”</p><p>She laughs.  “Keep the closest eye on Carl, then, because he’s the one that would come up with that idea.”  </p><p>“I’ll do that.”  He’s heard tales of the teenager in question, because Princess thinks the boy’s the most hilarious kid she’s ever met.  She adores Carl best of all the kids, although he’s not entirely sure why.  Maybe he’ll ask her, one of these days.</p><p>He’s halfway toward the lobby, with the range slotted in for his day anyway, when she calls out his name.  Glancing back, Lori’s fidgeting with the shirt she’d been mending when he approached.  “Do you want me to look in on her?”</p><p>Thinking it over, he shakes his head.  “Nah.   I’ll be back by lunchtime.  Gonna check on her myself then, if she hasn’t ventured out.”  Three steps closer to the door, and he stops himself.  “Thanks for offering.”  The look of shock on Lori’s face at the gratitude makes him chuckle all the way to the damn range.</p><p>The good mood holds, and he doesn’t mind the rugrats being underfoot.  They follow him back like he’s Princess’s sort of pied piper, grimy, muddy, and laughing their little asses off.  He’s not going to admit to how many of the little pests he ended up dunking when he declared the range closed and sent everyone to splash in the water.  He’s probably trashed his asshole reputation completely now, at least for the population under legal drinking age.</p><p>Lori takes one look at the kids and points at the outdoor showers, but she’s smiling even as he passes her on the way to the stairs.  The door’s unlocked and Princess nowhere to be seen.  Her pack’s gone, so he expects she decided to take his hint about a river jaunt.  He cleans up, putting on dry clothes and thinking over what he’d decided while putting some of the newbies through their paces on shooting.</p><p>It doesn’t take him long to grab some food he can carry along with him. He’s got a radio on his belt, so he just leaves word with Noah that he’s to be considered out of pocket for the afternoon.  The boy glances around the tables and gives him a knowing look.  His soldiers got the hint this morning, when he suggested a few changes that needed to be made.</p><p>Crossing paths with his own baby brother is perfect timing.  He’d promised himself to find Daryl today, and here Daryl found him instead of him having to go looking.  When he closes a hand around Daryl’s bicep, he makes it just firm enough that Daryl’s eyes widen.  It’s easy to read from his brother’s narrow eyed wariness as he allows Merle to tow him into one of the old hotel offices that Daryl knows something’s up.</p><p>Part of Merle wants to make Daryl squirm a bit, some payback for Princess being so upset.  But he’s had months of being clear headed and watching his brother creep out of his protective shell.  He’s not enough of a bastard to be his old vicious self to Daryl… not yet.</p><p>“We need to have us a man to man conversation, baby brother, about why you aren’t man enough to come to me when you got a problem with who I’m fucking.”</p><p>Daryl’s eyes go wide, even as he yanks his arm away from Merle.  He puts space in between them, and Merle’s earned that wariness, he knows, but it still rankles.  They’ve brawled plenty as adults, and Merle started ninety-nine percent of those by being drunk or high, but he’s never crossed that line sober.  Jesus, like that’s a fucking justification.  So he never imitated Will Dixon completely?  Still makes him a fucking major part of why Daryl’s always faced the world like a feral dog, just waiting for his next beating.</p><p>It’s a realization Merle isn’t sure he’s ready to completely face.  That lady shrink could probably write a book just on all the shit Merle needs to own up to.  </p><p>“Ain’t good, what you’re doing with the girl, Merle,” Daryl says.  He doesn’t mumble it like he once would have, and Merle can see it’s taking a conscious effort for Daryl to hold his shoulders steady and not hunch them protectively.</p><p>“Everything we do is by her lead and her choice.  She wants it over, it’s over.”  Merle takes his own step backward, giving Daryl some extra space before he speaks again.  “Something needs to be said, let your woman do the talking, Daryl, because you make her cry like that again, and I’ll beat your ass stone cold sober.”</p><p>His brother jerks to attention completely, eyes scanning Merle’s expression with more intent than threat assessment.  Merle’s never threatened him over a woman before.  Hell, in the past, Merle’s always been happy to share any woman willing to fuck them both.  Daryl hadn’t been interested in many women, so Merle had always just been happy to see glimpses that his brother wasn’t broken beyond repair when it came to associating with people.</p><p>He’d never been especially particular if it was before or after Daryl’d gotten his rocks off, either.  Being honest with himself in a way he usually isn’t, Merle can admit the majority of the interest he’d developed in Michonne before Daryl finally manned up had been curiosity about why she intrigued his brother.  That’s another good one to make Denise’s pretty head short circuit, he thinks.</p><p>Daryl clears his throat, and he looks downright ashamed.  “A’right.  Didn’t mean to make her cry, Merle.  Never that.”</p><p>Merle hums thoughtfully.  “I figured as much, Daryl.  Pissing off women ain’t never been your habit of choice.  It’s why we’re having this conversation with our words and not our fists.”</p><p>If they were in some stupid TV movie, this would probably be the point where his brother asks him about his unexpected defense of Princess, but neither of them have changed that much.  Instead, Daryl predictably asks about Princess.  “She okay?”</p><p>“Seems to be.  Probably wouldn’t say no to an apology.”  Merle’s not very good at those, but Daryl can probably figure one out that works.</p><p>Daryl just nods, sighing deeply.   Merle pushes away from the wall and closes the distance between them.  His brother doesn’t flinch away this time, so he curls a hand around the back of Daryl’s neck and drags him in for a hug.  Daryl stiffens at first, but then relaxes in a way that unleashes guilt Merle’s spent a lifetime ignoring.</p><p>Still, he’s not so much a changed man now that he doesn’t cackle when his brother scrubs at his forehead and bitches after Merle kisses his forehead like he’s a toddler all over again.  With his self-made promise kept, he leaves Daryl sputtering in the office and goes to see if he can track down Princess and propose an entirely different solution than they were pressing on her about that goddamned key.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter may run a mixed POV for the first time, as an experiment on how to run the two couples' stories concurrently in the same story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Family Dinners</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Merle isn't sure how to absorb a quiet admission Princess makes when she thinks he's not listening.  Princess just wants to put an end to the distance between Merle and his family, and Michonne and Daryl are more than ready for the olive branch she offers.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>September 8, 2010</b>
  </span>
</p><p>~*~ Merle ~*~</p><p>Making the decision to move out of the hotel was half calculated thought and half gut reaction to his family’s objection to his relationship with Princess.  Spreading the population out was something he’d been discussing with his two most capable security people even before things went sideways, but honestly?  Merle hadn’t actually banked on being the first one to take the step.</p><p>It seems like a lot of folks were just waiting on someone to give the okay, though.  The hotel went from over seventy residents to around twenty within five days of Michonne making the announcement that certain areas were open for settlement.  Walsh took a group to the northern part of the island in a cluster of condos, Ford took another down south near the old 4-H camp, and Merle’s group chose the riverside nearest the old airstrip.</p><p>Part of him feels a little guilty that his little neighborhood holds all the actual soldiers except Ford and Espinoza, even Ford’s own son.  AJ’s sharing one of the neighboring houses with two of the other baby soldiers.  Then again, even the civilians on the island don’t exactly pass for actual civilians anymore.  His team has seen to that.</p><p>The place Princess picked out without him telling her why he asked is bright and cheerful, nothing like anything a Dixon’s ever lived in.  But it makes her smile, and honestly, he’s absorbed enough of Denise’s psychology babble by now to know it’s an environment that supports his own road to recovery.</p><p>This is how he wakes in a dark bedroom, despite one entire wall being nothing but windows and a glass door to a patio outside.  The soft yellow walls aren’t visible right now, but he can hear the river in the predawn darkness through the screen added to the door so they can have air flow at night, even over the soft hum of the fan.  It won’t be long before they need to decide on how to heat these places, but that’s a task for later.</p><p>Slipping off to the bathroom wakes Princess, so she’s blinking sleepily at him when he comes back to bed.  “Why’re you up so early?” she mumbles, groping for him even as he slips back beneath the sheet.</p><p>“Not sure.”  Well, he is sure, but admitting he’s old enough his bladder doesn’t always make it to a normal waking hour isn’t on his agenda this morning.  “Go back to sleep, sunshine.”</p><p>She nuzzles close, winding her limbs with his despite the heat.  It should feel like he’s being smothered.  Instead, he knows what it is, and he feels guilt curl along with him.  Even though he told Daryl he didn’t intend on ending anything with Princess unless it was her own choice, he knows she’s getting more emotionally attached than he is.  He isn’t even sure he’s capable of more than this soft affection he has for her, one that surprised the hell out of him.  The cynic in him says it's lust and ego, purely the dirty old man he told her he was.  But he likes the girl, a lot more than he honestly expected.  She's his, and there's a sense of possessiveness growing within him each day he spends with her.</p><p>But no matter how well she hides it, he heard her last night, when she thought he was asleep after they’d both gone boneless with pleasure.  Soft lips against his throat and the whispered words… even an old redneck like himself knows what ‘I love you’ in Spanish sounds like.  He really is the pervert his brother thinks he is, to keep things going like this.  </p><p>He needs to stop ignoring Daryl’s wistful looks and relent, but the distrust is still there on his brother’s part.  Merle doesn’t need Daryl as an oversized Jiminy Cricket every time the younger man looks at Princess and back to Merle.  But as he told Princess, he’s not a good man, and probably not even capable of being the sort of good his brother is.  It’s selfish of him to know the woman in his arms loves him and not tell her just how incapable of returning it that he is.  Will Dixon beat all that softness out of him decades ago, and whatever miracle made Daryl capable is one Merle is grateful for, but it passed him right by.</p><p>“You’re thinking too hard,” Princess mumbles.  She raises her head to look at him, even though the room is still too dark for her to actually see anything.  </p><p>That darkness provides him a little cover to reach up and cup her cheek, drawing her down for a kiss to distract her from inquiring further.  He wonders if she remembers what she said last night, even as she eases him onto his back.  “You aiming to distract me?” he asks, voice deeper than it should be.  "Because that sounds real fucking nice this morning."</p><p>“Is it working?” she asks, clever hands stroking down his chest, petting his stomach, and teasing short of what is her ultimate goal.</p><p>“Always does.”  And it does, because somehow, he’s managed to find the libido he lost in his twenties where she’s concerned.  Then again, he’s in his longest stretch of sobriety that didn’t involve a prison cell, so that could be contributing.  </p><p>Locking away the thoughts of prison, drugs, and alcohol, Merle focuses on what it feels like to be beneath her, with the flex and slide of strong thighs gripping him and taking them both to a place where he can just forget what he overheard last night.  Guilt isn't something he ever bothers with outside of a flicker here and there where Daryl's concerned, so starting now?  </p><p>He's just too old for that shit.</p><p>~*~ Michonne ~*~</p><p>Michonne wakes, hand snaking across the bed to find the sheets next to her cool.  Daryl’s been up a while, then, even though the sky is just starting to turn gray-purple with the promise of sunrise.  He’s on the balcony, naked as the day he was born, leaning against the railing and fiddling with something in his hands.</p><p>She just watches for a few minutes, enjoying the play of muscles under his skin, before slipping from the bed.  For a man who loathed showing her his scars when they first started sharing a bed, he’s quickly adjusted to being naked around her.  It’s a bigger commitment to their relationship than a wedding ring would be, she thinks.</p><p>The fiddling habit is part of his effort to quit smoking.  The two girls that adopted Daryl tag teamed the man about the habit, but once he quit, it was obvious it was less about the nicotine and more about something to do with his hands.  Even lying in bed at night, he’ll often run his fingers along her spine until he falls asleep.</p><p>“You know, it’s a good thing there’s no one else using balconies right here,” she calls out softly as she reaches the sliding glass door.</p><p>He smiles back over his shoulder, that sheepish half smile, and his hands still on the handheld puzzle he’s been trying to solve.  “Thought that was part of why you liked this room anyway.”</p><p>Despite being the de facto leader from the beginning, originally, Michonne took a regular room, just two queen beds for her, Andre, and the teen girls to share.  Once she and Daryl decided to make something permanent of their relationship, they moved to one of the suite style rooms that had an adjoining room to connect for the girls.  Andre’s small bed is tucked in a corner of the living room area.</p><p>Wrapping her arms around him, she presses a kiss below his ear, which makes him hum happily.  “Something on your mind this morning?”</p><p>It’s a silly question, because she knows it’s the same thing that’s been plaguing him since his brother moved out of the hotel and into one of the places along the river.  The general idea is to keep a closer eye on the bridge itself, but Michonne isn’t naïve enough not to know that Merle moved forward with the plans because of her and Daryl.</p><p>“So many years, anything wrong between us, me and Merle, it was almost always his fault,” Daryl mumbles, staring out at the ocean.  “This wasn’t.”</p><p>“We both spoke to her,” Michonne says, smoothing a hand along his chest.  Merle’s been cool to her, but since she could never call their interactions warm in the first place, it’s not a big deal.  He’s professional and so is she, which is all that really has to happen.  </p><p>But Daryl’s gone from regular interactions with Merle, which always seem of an asshole nature on the part of both men, to a cool politeness that seems to bother Daryl more than if Merle just punched him.  It distresses him enough that Michonne even had a private chat with Denise, who politely suggested that she let the brothers work it out on their own as long as it’s not endangering anyone.  There may have also been a small lecture about her own discussion with Princess, indicating that old world psychology about addiction recovery could be completely irrelevant now.</p><p>“Yeah, but all you did was piss her off.”  Daryl sighs, rubbing at his face.  “She still won’t look straight at me, Chonne.”</p><p>Daryl had apologized, just like his brother all but ordered, and Princess had thanked him and accepted the apology without any fuss.  But the young woman is almost as feral as Daryl himself.  Allowing him to apologize seems to be the extent of her comfort with Daryl, and she’s proven skilled at avoiding him as much as possible.</p><p>“If it’s any consolation, I think she’s angry at you on Merle’s behalf.”  Even without directly asking, the gossip makes it back to Michonne.  Princess didn’t attempt to socialize with Michonne before the incidents, but she does seem quite taken with the kids of the island, and by association, seems fairly happy to speak with Lori.  Lori’s advice was quite the same as Denise’s - leave her be.</p><p>“Not really.”  The sun is starting to color the sky, so he turns, kissing her slowly before scooting them both back inside.  No one’s likely to see them on the balcony before daylight, but after?  That’s a different story.</p><p>“I could try to talk to her,” Michonne offers.  Denise said leave the brothers be, but she didn’t tell Michonne she shouldn’t reach out to Princess again.  “Make amends.”</p><p>Daryl shakes his head.  “Gonna try one more time to talk to Princess today.  Think you’re right on her being offended on his behalf.  Keep hearing her asking me what happens when you always look at someone with the lowest possible expectations.”</p><p>Cupping his face between her hands, Michonne caresses his cheeks with her thumbs.  It’s a question that plagues all three of the players in this family drama, she thinks.  “Guess we need to borrow her optimism.  Wouldn’t have expected him to stay this straight, back at that center in Atlanta, you know.”</p><p>“Me neither.”  He sighs and leans in for a kiss.  A glance at the clock tells her they’ve got plenty of time before Andre will wake, so she just guides him toward their bed for the best sort of distraction.</p><p>The surprise of the day is that when Princess sees her approach when she’s returning the children at lunchtime, she exchanges a look with Lori and sighs deeply.  When the pregnant brunette nudges Princess’s elbow with a smile, the young Latina squares her shoulder and walks toward Michonne.  The greeting she gives is much quieter than Princess’s usual happy candor.</p><p>“Would you have lunch with me and Andre?” Michonne asks, hoping the offer of eating with the toddler can bridge the chasm she and Daryl created.  The younger woman adores children, although she’s never spent any time around the smallest ones that Michonne knows about.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Princess says, looking genuinely regretful.  “Maybe supper at the house?  I can cook.”  When Michonne hesitates, she continues.  “Ask Daryl and the girls to come, too?”</p><p>It’s an olive branch, and Michonne can’t really turn it down.  Besides, she is rather curious to see which of the houses caught the couple’s attention.  She knows the address, of course, just like all the others who moved out of the hotel, but she hasn’t actually directly checked which house it is.  “We’ll be there.  Same time as supper here?”</p><p>Princess nods, actually smiling at Michonne, before diverting off to snag two lunches to go from the serving line that is just opening up.  Daryl’s not due back for lunch, going hunting on one of the wilderness management islands with the girls and another hunter, so she gathers up Andre and settles in with Joanna’s family for lunch.  Their supper plans will just have to be a big surprise.</p><p>~*~ Princess ~*~</p><p>Merle sets the big dish on the table as Princess sets the rice side dish alongside it.  She frets over the place settings, doing a mental count of everything to make sure she hasn’t forgotten something important, like someone’s spoon.  His touch is gentle when he captures her hands, leading her away from the dining area.</p><p>“C’mon, sunshine.  You need to zen out some.”</p><p>She can’t help looking back at the table, even as he leads her to the couch and settles her in his lap.  It’s a little baffling sometimes, because she honestly expected her emotional meltdown to be the point of no return for a man like Merle.  Instead, the man had moved forward plans to slowly settle people on the island, instead of being crowded into the hotel.</p><p>Being led along the street that had houses that faced the river was a surprise, the day after her crying jag.  She’d explored and catalogued them all, and although he seemed to understand her fascination with the river versus the sea, it surprised her when he waved an arm along the road and asked which was her favorite.  It was an easy choice, pointing this one out, even if she hadn’t known it was about to become hers.</p><p>The house is too big for the two of them, but they aren’t the only couple solo in a house, so she doesn’t feel guilty about that.  The huge windows that offer a view of the East River fascinated her from the time she first saw the house.  It was a rental in its old life, so the colors are bright pastels and cheery, and there weren’t a lot of personal items to make it feel creepy.  From their bed, if they’re home before dark, she can watch the sun set.</p><p>It’s so much more enticing to her than the hotel’s sunrise views.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re okay with me inviting them?” she asks, as soon as Merle eases off the kiss he’d drawn her into.  </p><p>“I told you, it’s your place as much as mine.  If you’re fine with my whole family in your space, I don’t mind them either.”  His hand slides under the edge of the bright orange broomstick skirt she’s wearing, easing up bare skin to grip her knee.  It’s a tease to keep her mind off her worry, but it also reminds her that any other time, she would have leggings under the skirt, even in the heat.  He knows what her legs look like, and she likes him to touch bare skin.</p><p>Searching his expression, she sees nothing tense or upset at all, just the calm contentment he often seems to have around her.  It’s not that he never gets angry, but his temper always seems carefully directed towards a specific target.  She’s seen him shout down someone who did something dangerous or stupid with all the skill of military drill sergeant.  He sees himself as an unredeemable bastard, calls himself that openly, but then he touches her like she's some valuable treasure.  The funny part is, she doesn't think he knows he treats her so gently.</p><p>There’s also no sign he heard or remembers what she said last night, quietly against his skin.  When he woke up early this morning, she thought maybe he would, but he hadn’t said anything.  But that admission of love weighed on her, so that she just couldn’t keep being the reason he and his brother aren’t speaking.</p><p>“I panicked a little.  Lori just told me Michonne was more afraid of me than the other way around right now, and then Michonne invited me for lunch.  It just came out to invite them for supper instead.”</p><p>“You think fast for being panicked,” he tells her, grinning and sliding his hand just a little bit higher.  “I like it when you think fast.”</p><p>It makes her laugh, although she captures his wandering hand by dropping hers on top of it through the skirt.  “I don’t want to smell like we just had sex when they get here.”  Especially not when his brother and Michonne both seem to think sex is all there is to their time together.</p><p>Merle doesn’t lose a bit of his cheer, kissing her even as he retreats the hand.  “It’ll be fine, sugar.  And if it isn’t?  I’ll toss them out on their asses, and we’ll try again in a month or two.  Then we can smell like sex all we want to.”  </p><p>Princess surely hopes it doesn’t come to that, especially considering Andre, Enid, and Lydia are coming along.  Before she can worry again, there’s a knock on the door.  “I’ll get the door and let the hellions in.  Let you do one last check over that table if you have to.”</p><p>Taking a deep breath, she lets him up, going to do exactly that.  The two calderos are cooking pots she liberated from a restaurant on the island, delighted to find something that was exactly the type of pot her father’s mother had used to cook family meals.  Abuelita is the reason that Princess has always had a love of fish and seafood, going back to the elderly woman’s stories about life before she came to America after her son helped her immigrate.</p><p>Lifting the lids from each pot, she carries them to the kitchen even as she hears Merle greeting everyone.  In order to take care not to overstrain the electrical system Eugene maintains for the island, all the new houses use limited electricity.  Most houses only have the breakers on for the kitchen, hot water heater, and lighting in certain rooms.</p><p>The joy of that is that eating out here doesn’t mean giving up luxuries like ice.  Food isn’t strictly rationed, although she suspects that if someone takes too much from the commissary, they’ll find themselves referred to an uncomfortable meeting with Michonne.  She and Merle generally eat breakfast and lunch at the community meal, but in the five days they’ve been moved into the house, she’s cooked almost every night for the two of them.</p><p>“Something smells absolutely wonderful,” Michonne says, just as she comes into the dining area, Andre seated on one hip.  The teen girls nod in enthusiastic agreement.</p><p>Princess sets the pitcher of lemonade on the table and smiles broadly at the compliment.  The dish isn’t all that different from some of the fish stews that have been served as group meals, but the rice?  That’ll be different for everyone.</p><p>“I hope folks like coconut?  I’m going to miss it when the supplies run out.”  Luckily, coconut milk is currently plentiful in their supplies, the stuff lasts forever, and it isn’t used much.</p><p>Merle sets a toddler seat into the chair he brought from the breakfast nook, since the dining table is one short.  He adjusts the straps, not seeming to care that Daryl’s watching him a little disbelievingly.  The older Dixon raises up, motioning to the seat edged in between two other chairs.  “Figured the little man prefers his own chair, dontcha, Andre?”</p><p>When Merle offers a fist bump to the toddler, the boy grins and offers a high five instead.  Michonne seems pleased at the interaction, settling Andre into the indicated chair and taking the seat beside him.  The two girls take the seats with their backs to the windows, so Princess sits next to Michonne.  That leaves the brothers facing each other from each end of the table.</p><p>“What are we having?” Enid asks, looking curious.</p><p>“My abuelita called it cazuela de mariscos,” Princess explains.  “It’s a seafood stew.  I had to adapt it a bit, since we don’t have all the things I remember, but it’s supposed to adapt to ingredients, anyway.  The rice is arroz con coco, coconut rice.”</p><p>As everyone takes turns serving themselves, some assistance is needed for the two men, since each is too far away from a different pot to reach the ladles.  Princess taste tested both dishes, not willing to risk a bad meal, so she’s confident they taste good.  Whether or not the guests will enjoy it is a different story.  Merle and Daryl will pretty much eat anything, she knows, so she keeps her attention on the girls and Michonne.  Andre’s enjoyment is happy and noisy, making her smile.</p><p>Inviting the girls proves a good decision, because Lydia grins widely.  “This is why you like to go fishing and crabbing and all that, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Sorta.  It wasn’t something I got to do a lot as a kid, living in Pittsburgh, but soon as I was old enough, I came down to Florida.  My abuelita taught me to cook, but she was from Colombia.”</p><p>“I like the rice.  Reminds me of sugared rice, but better,” Enid says, taking a healthy bite.  </p><p>Princess had hesitated with the rice, unsure if plain rice would be better with the seafood stew if anyone hadn’t had it before, but at least it seems to be a hit with the kids - and Merle.  His rice is gone before he’s even dipped a spoon in his soup.</p><p>“Normally, there would be fried plantains, too, but…” she shrugs, and the others nod.  Cuisine will change as they lose more and more of the exotics.  They’re better off than some, here near the Florida border, but some foods simply don’t grow in the United States, or they grow on the other side of the country.</p><p>“Tasty stew, sunshine,” Merle comments, reaching out to run his left hand over her right where it’s resting on the cool glass of the dining table.  She turns her hand, relaxing even more as her fingers twine with Merle’s.  “As good as last night’s fish.  Never thought I’d like a fish fried up whole like that, skin and all.”</p><p>She smiles happily at him for the repeat of the prior night’s compliment.  Eating away from the others means more of what she’s caught for them and less venison or rabbit, but Merle hasn’t seemed to mind.  Maybe next time venison’s on the menu, they’ll eat with the others.</p><p>“It tastes enough like other fish I’ve cooked that way,” she says, but something in Merle’s expression makes her look down the table at Daryl.  The younger Dixon is studying his brother as if he were a science experiment, gaze on their linked hands.  It makes her feel a little angry, even though Merle’s explained Daryl’s reasons for being wary of him.</p><p>Neither says anything, and Daryl catches her watching him and blushes, ducking his head.  It makes his voice less audible when he asks, “You catching all your suppers now?”</p><p>It’s the first question that really crosses into personal territory, more significant than anything about the meal in front of them.  She squares her shoulders and smiles brightly.  “Yes, I am.  River’s almost as good as the supermarket, you know.  Sink a line, and here comes supper.  Same as I did for months.”</p><p>When she emphasizes that last word, Daryl looks up and for the first time, she thinks he sees the survivor who lived completely on her own for months, and not a girl in need of protection from Merle.  He blinks, and she holds his gaze despite the wish to look away.  “Maybe you should come with me sometime,” she adds.</p><p>He swallows, gaze shifting to Michonne for whatever reason he needs, but then he nods.  “Alright.  Might be good to learn about the water, too.”</p><p>“Tomorrow, then.”  She’s not letting him continue to think her a weakling, not now that she’s got his attention.</p><p>“A’right.”  </p><p>The drawled acceptance finally tips something in the right direction, and the rest of the meal goes like she wished for.  The kids are happy, the girls a little more intrigued by just what Princess does with her days than they’ve been before, and Michonne has this odd little smile that Princess probably should be suspicious of, but she’ll let it slide for now.</p><p>Family dinners are supposed to be like this, and maybe it took the damned apocalypse for Princess to have them again, but she’s going to hang on with both hands.  Maybe she’s falling in love with Merle in a way that she may regret later, but for now, neither of them are going anywhere.  In her life?  That’s what counts the most.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was supposed to have a Daryl POV, too, but it is going to be a lot longer than I can cram into this chapter.  His and Princess's reckoning of each other will be a chapter unto itself.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. On a Good Path</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daryl spends the day following Princess through her routine, and she shares a bit of her past with him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>September 9, 2010</b>
  </span>
</p><p>Daryl is so worked up and nervous about what he’s agreed to do for the day that he skips breakfast, completely forgetting that Princess always comes to the hotel to collect the children in the morning for whatever she does to keep them busy.  She smirks at him when they cross paths on the way, tossing him something warm wrapped in foil.</p><p>“Merle said you forget to eat all the time.  Portable breakfast.”</p><p>The shape indicates a burrito of some sort, and last night’s meal was so tasty he doesn’t actually hesitate to peel back the foil and take a bite.  “Eggs?” he asks after he swallows the bite.  The bell peppers and potatoes he knows they grow here, plus salvage from existing gardens off the island, but they haven’t found enough surviving chickens yet to allow eggs for consumption.  Michonne is still allowing a flock to build up.</p><p>“Duck eggs.  Found a new nest yesterday, and I took three of the ten eggs for a treat.  Left the rest to make sure we keep having ducks.”</p><p>Taking another bite, Daryl thinks it over before shrugging.  “Wonder if maybe we could catch those ducks and the nest?  Tame ‘em down for us?”</p><p>“Don’t see why not.  They like bread, so I think someone fed them before, and they aren’t a wild breed, far as I can tell.  I’ll show you where later.”</p><p>Reaching the hotel, Princess greets Lori with happy enthusiasm before she’s swarmed by excited kids.  “What did you do with your teenage duo?” she asks as she directs the kids to the main fishing dock.  From the gear the kids are carrying, Daryl thinks today is a crabbing day.</p><p>“They’re taking sailing lessons today.”  He sort of regrets it, because he thinks the girls might enjoy the crabbing.  They follow him so much that they haven’t participated in what Princess leads the younger teens and kids to do.</p><p>“One of these days, I’ve got to sign up for that.”</p><p>“You don’t know how to sail?” one of the kids asks, a curious looking blonde girl who looks maybe twelve or thirteen.  “But you know everything about the water!”</p><p>Princess laughs.  “Sailing lessons are kind of expensive.  Learning how to work the beaches is cheap, and you can teach yourself by trial and error.  I do know how to kayak, though.”</p><p>“Can we learn that?” a different kid asks, and Daryl really needs to learn the names of the ones that didn’t come with them from Atlanta.  This kid’s also in that odd phase between kid and teen, becoming gangly before a real growth spurt, he thinks.</p><p>“Sure, Carl, long as your mama says it’s okay.”  </p><p>Tagging along for the crabbing isn’t all that informative, other than reinforcing Daryl’s knowledge that Princess gets along with children better than adults.  There’s a snide part of his brain that thinks it might explain her ability to tolerate Merle, since his behavior is often as impulsive as a kid’s, or at least it used to be.  Once they turn the day’s catch and the kids over to Lori, he follows Princess out toward the river.</p><p>“Thought you scouted out the town in the afternoons,” Daryl mutters, reluctantly curious.</p><p>“Depends on my mood.  Now that people are living outside the hotel, more people are doing that now, so I’m working along the river and wetlands more.”  </p><p>Princess is so light of foot as they enter the wetlands that Daryl wonders what it would be like to take her hunting.  At this point, he isn’t sure she would need to be taught much and might already know how.  She’s qualified as an actual marksman on the community rosters, not just firearms competent, and he’s spotted signs of at least three blades hidden about her person in addition to the one worn openly at her belt.</p><p>“The island I was on, it didn’t have so much unpopulated space,” Princess tells him after a while spent just walking in silence.  “I’ve been learning more as I go here, where the place is back to the wild, but at least I didn’t have to clear walkers out of here.”</p><p>Finally, they reach whatever destination she’s aiming for, which is a cluster of bushes that Daryl recognizes as wax myrtles.  He’s taught Enid and Lydia about them, since the leaves work as insect repellant without smelling like complete crap like the sprays do.  “You know your plants?” </p><p>“Some of them.  Probably not as much as you, because I grew up in the city.  But Florida has a ton of places to explore outdoors, and those naturalist classes at the parks are always free or really cheap, yanno?”  She pulls a net bag out of her pack and starts stripping berries off a bush in a pattern designed to leave some behind for the wildlife.  “Kids and I are gonna experiment tomorrow to make candles, and Carol wants some leaves for the kitchens.  Read a thing about using the leaves to smoke mullet, too, so I’m thinking on doing that with the kids, too.”</p><p>She flashes him a mischievous grin.  “I had a lot of time on my hands back on my island and unlimited access to the library on the mainland.”</p><p>“You left that island?” Daryl’s not sure he wants to think about her doing that all alone.</p><p>Princess shrugs, moving to the next bush as she does so.  “Had to, sometimes.  Picked times when something lured the walkers away from where I needed to be or set off car alarms myself if I needed to hurry.”  She pauses, studying him so calmly it’s unnerving.  “I could lead a supply team, Daryl, if that was what I wanted to do, just like you.  I’m young, not stupid or inexperienced.”</p><p>There’s more behind that statement than keeping her safe in a walker-filled world, he knows, and he returns her look evenly for a long moment before nodding.  “You were really on your own the whole time?”</p><p>“Yeah.  Glad I didn’t evacuate into Jacksonville.  Lots of people trusted the Navy and Marines there, but it didn’t work out so well for them down there, did it?”</p><p>Considering the destroyed city, Daryl has to agree, so he nods.  Pulling out a bag of his own, he starts selecting the best leaves he can find for Carol’s use.  He doesn’t know the slim woman from the other Atlanta group well, but she is lauded as a miracle worker for the kitchens, so if she wants fresh spices, she’s getting them.</p><p>Eventually, their trek ends with them on the banks of the river, as Princess explains doesn’t know much about catching anything on land, but if it’s in the water, that’s her forte.  “Maybe it’s growing up on all my abuelita’s stories, stuck in the city the way we were, but soon as I was legal, I cut loose and headed straight for the beach.  Not a lot here to compare to where she came from, but Florida was close enough for me.”</p><p>“You left all your family behind?  Even your grandma?”  She speaks fondly of her grandmother, both last night and today, but no one else.</p><p>The girl stills for a moment, taking a deep breath before glancing sideways at him through a shock of purple hair.  “Abuelita died when I was nine, and my dad a year later.  My mother was more afraid of being alone than living with a monster, so by the time I was old enough to leave, I had no one to leave behind.”</p><p>It’s said so calmly, but the tension in her body indicates she’s not nearly as serene as she wants to be.  Daryl freezes, not wanting to read between the lines she’s laid out so carefully for him, but then she reaches down and pushes the sleeve of her thin henley shirt up to her bicep.  As she rotates her arm, he takes in the scarring and swallows hard.</p><p>“You see, Daryl, I know when a man is a monster.  My stepfather and stepbrother were both monsters in every sense of the word.  Whatever Merle used to be, I can’t say, but what he is now?  It’s not anything close to them.”</p><p>There’s no mistaking what she’s allowing him to see, and he forces himself to meet her eyes when she finally turns to judge his reaction.  “Am I wrong on that?” she questions in the same tranquil tone.</p><p>“No, you’re not wrong on that.  Merle, he’s an asshole, but he’d never do anything like that to a woman.”  Hell, more than half of the damage on Merle’s body is from years of pissing their old man off deliberately to draw attention off their mama and Daryl, not that she appreciated it much from what Daryl can dimly remember.  Most of the violent conflict between himself and Merle never crossed the line until Daryl had a grown man’s size, if not the correct number of years.  </p><p>“Pass or fail in this relationship, Daryl, that’s between him and me.  Merle won’t admit it, though, but your opinion of him matters the most.  More than mine, more than Michonne’s, even more than all his baby soldiers.”  There’s a stark honesty in her voice that makes him meet her eyes again.  “I’m pretty sure the only good he’s ever had in his life centers around you.”</p><p>It’s a significant realization that she’s right.  Daryl’s always considered that his life orbited around Merle and his whims, but the reverse is also true.  Aside from his time in the Marines, and the sixteen months in military prison that his service led to, Merle has never ventured far from Daryl either.</p><p>“That’s not true anymore, is it?” he asks, and that makes him breath easier.  Being the only person his brother trusts hasn’t been easy, but now?  “It’s not just me that is good for him.”</p><p>That earns him a bright smile, even as she kneels and unzips her backpack to retrieve a seine net.  “Glad you’re noticing.  Ready to go fishing?”</p><p>Nodding, Daryl spares her a smile, thinking that letting go of his worry for now is going to be for the best.  Her words from their first conversation come to mind.  She’s right that people have always expected Daryl to fail, and Merle even more so because of the time he’s served.  It’s time to have a little faith in his brother’s ability to change.</p><p>By the time Daryl leaves Princess at her own back door, promising to deliver today’s bounty to the kitchens for her, they’ve settled into an agreement to start overlapping what they’re doing a couple of days a week.  His girls will enjoy learning what Princess has to teach them, and Princess’s enthusiasm about learning to hunt is contagious.</p><p>He collects Andre from the daycare lady and heads down to the beach.  Supper isn’t ready yet, and he figure he might as well let the toddler splash and play while Daryl himself is still a bit grubby from his day outdoors.  Michonne finds them where Andre’s collecting shells and bits of other things from the beach in a little plastic bucket.</p><p>“You know, he’s gonna run out of room for his treasures eventually,” she muses, sliding an arm around his waist.  “Even with you just insisting he only keep his favorite every time you bring him down here.”</p><p>“Guess I’ll just have to find him a bigger place to store them.”  It’s something that is going to happen eventually, Daryl knows.  Living in the hotel is fine for now, and it works out to have Michonne in such a central location.  But it’s still a hotel, and no matter now nice the suite she moved their small family into is, it’s still not the same as one of the houses or condos with outdoor space all their own.</p><p>“How did your day with Princess go?” Michonne asks, still leaning against him.</p><p>“Pretty good, actually.  She found a pair of nesting ducks we might want to bring in for the poultry flock.  Ain’t wild ducks, so they should be fine if we do.”  </p><p>Honestly, they’re the weirdest looking ducks Daryl’s ever seen, but he’s not familiar with domestic breeds.  These things look kind of stretched out like a duck and a goose crossbred, but they came right up to Princess for some diced vegetables she pulled out of a little Tupperware container for them.  If they weren’t tame before the world ended, they’ve certainly responded well to the young Latina.</p><p>“I’ll see what we can get set up for them.  Shouldn’t take much, but I have some vague memory that ducks and chickens should generally be kept separate.”</p><p>Daryl thinks of watching Princess interact with the ducks.  “Maybe could they be put somewhere close to Princess’s house?  I know we want to keep any predators off them, with just a single pair.  But I think she’s kind of attached to them.”</p><p>“Can’t hurt, if you think she would enjoy looking after them.”  Michonne gives him a little squeeze before going to convince Andre his bucket is full enough for today.</p><p>“She would.”  It’ll make her happy, and Daryl does owe her a bit.  Plus her random chatter indicates she wants more family dinners, and he bets Andre would go crazy seeing ducks up close.  The toddler already obsesses over the wild birds and the growing flock of chickens.</p><p>Once Michonne has taken over the bucket, Andre jogs straight to Daryl, asking to be lifted up.  Since he left his crossbow at the hotel under Lori’s benign oversight, he lifts the boy up onto his shoulders.</p><p>Andre giggles, bouncing lightly and thumping his heels against Daryl’s chest even as Daryl grips his thighs to keep him steady.  “Mama says I can keep a shell, and you’re gonna make me a shelf for them.”</p><p>“Guess you need one with all those shells,” Daryl acknowledges, darting a glance to Michonne, who flourishes a pretty Atlantic Auger.  He wouldn’t have known what the shells were before they came here, because sea shells were just sea shells.  But thanks to Andre’s obsession with collecting different ones and wanting to know their names, he’s learned.  It’s preparation for later years, he figures, when he starts teaching Andre about plants and tracking.</p><p>“It needs to be a big shelf, Dare.  I gotta find a sand dollar like Meghan.”</p><p>It’s Andre’s holy grail, finding an intact sand dollar.  So far, his luck has been finding chipped or broken ones, and the boy reluctantly leaves them behind.  “We’ll keep looking, buddy.  Maybe we’ll ask Princess to help us look?  She knows a lot of good places on the island.”</p><p>The beach isn’t Daryl’s strong point, but it sure seems to be the young woman’s, so why not ask?  She’ll probably be more than happy to lead Andre around and teach Daryl and the toddler at the same time.</p><p>“Yeah!  I like Princess.”  Andre leans out toward his mother as Michonne falls in step beside him.  “Mama, can Princess go to the beach with us?”</p><p>“Sure, sweetheart, anytime you like.”  She glances over at Daryl.  “Maybe we’ll make a family day of it.  I never see her or your brother swim.”</p><p>They’re almost back to the hotel, so Daryl halts, glancing towards where folks are starting to gather.  “Not sure she goes swimming,” he says softly.  It’s hard to judge if Princess is as sensitive to her scars as Daryl is.  Just because she keeps them well covered in her daily life doesn’t mean she’s as uncomfortable as he is about them in general.  She sure had shown him fairly easily.</p><p>Michonne looks a little horrified.  “Please tell me she knows how to swim.”</p><p>Considering how much time the woman is around water with the kids, it’s a logical worry, he supposes.  “I can’t imagine her taking kids into the water and not knowing how to swim.  It’s just…” he sighs, because it’s not truly his secret to tell, but at the same time, Michonne should know enough not to insist.  “It’s like me.  Why I wear a shirt to swim.”</p><p>That’s as far as he’s willing to go, but he doesn’t need to say anymore, because Michonne’s expression turns thoughtful as she nods.  “I’ll suggested it as the kids swimming and if she wants to join me and them, that’s her choice.”</p><p>Before they start up the steps from the beach to the hotel, she reaches up to cup his face and kiss him gently, laughing when Andre leans down to pat her head and demand his own kiss.  Daryl enjoys the moment, sun warm on his skin, and he thinks of last night, where Merle went out of his way to hold Princess’s hand when she was nervous at the table.</p><p>All his life, Daryl’s wanted the brother he knew before the Marines back, and that Merle only appeared in short bursts that were more heartbreaking for their brevity than hopeful.  Even before Princess came into their lives, Merle’s been on a good path.  Perhaps having a partner for the journey is exactly what Merle needs and always lacked.  The idea of his brother with a family doesn’t seem nearly as frightening as it once would have.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Princess's pet ducks are Indian Runner ducks, which is why Daryl doesn't know exactly what they are other than a domesticated breed.  Funniest little ducks you'll ever see. </p><p>Next chapter will have more of a time jump - and some family drama of a different sort.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Impossible of Impossibles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Merle's starting to get the hang of being one half of a relationship, but he sure doesn't expect the challenge about to come his way.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <span class="u">January 13-14, 2011</span>
  </b>
</p><p>Celebrating his birthday isn’t something Merle’s ever really done.  The only time the damn date mattered was when he turned eighteen and officially escaped his father’s control.  Everything past that was just a surprise that he managed another year above ground, to be honest.</p><p>But he has to admit that today was a good day, one of the best he’s had since he’s been sober.  Daryl, Michonne, and their trio of kiddies coming over for a birthday supper was a surprise in a way it shouldn’t have been.  Princess is all about the happy milestones, almost aggressively so.</p><p>There’s even cake, although she’s the first to admit she sweet talked one of the other ladies into making it for her.  Experimental baking isn’t Princess’s cup of tea, although the supper shows more of leaning towards Merle’s upbringing than their usual fare.  Cake might not be on his gal’s agenda, but she can make biscuits worth a man’s soul.</p><p>Michonne lingers behind at the door, even as Daryl and the girls head off into the gathering dusk.  Andre’s half-dozing on Daryl’s shoulder, full of tasty food, but he’s waving lazily at his mother and Merle on the doorstep.</p><p>“Something we need to talk about?” Merle asks, glancing at Michonne.  As the months have gone by, their partnership with leading the place is about as settled as it comes, and aside from the hiccup regarding Princess, he’d say they’re good friends.  They’d met about the community today, so he can’t imagine it’s anything to do with work.</p><p>“It’s just…” Michonne sighs.  “I know you and Daryl aren’t much into birthdays and special days and such.  Remembering the ones that aren’t community oriented like Christmas can be hard even in the best of circumstances.”</p><p>“Might as well spit out what’s worrying you.  I’m not as sensitive as my brother.”</p><p>That makes her snort in laughter.  “You don’t say.”  </p><p>Merle just arches a brow, attention half on the kitchen window, where Princess can be seen humming and dancing a bit by her lonesome as she washes dishes.  Michonne’s gaze follows his.  “You should plan something for her birthday, or I can if you don’t have any ideas.  You do know when it is, right?”</p><p>“The twenty-fourth.”  The ready answer impresses Michonne, he can tell, but honestly, it’s not all that remarkable to remember that Princess’s birthday is eleven days after his own.  “I don’t think she’s going to want a big deal made out of it, you know.”</p><p>“No, probably not.  But something lowkey, like this?  I think she would enjoy it.”</p><p>“I can figure something out.  Do you know who made that cake for her?”  It was bakery quality, in Merle’s opinion, if not as wastefully decorated as a store bought cake would have been.</p><p>“Carol did.  She makes the desserts for the community meals.  She could probably help you cook supper, or I can.”  </p><p>Merle is familiar with the tall, slim gray-haired woman who seems content to be in charge of the entire island’s nutritional demands.  She oversees the food pantry, too, although Princess is the one who usually fetches their allotments from there.  “I’ll work something out with Carol for the cake, but I do actually cook.”</p><p>He may have learned out of self-preservation so he didn’t starve to death or live on nothing but bologna sandwiches as a kid, but he’s passable in the kitchen.  Nothing like Princess manages for their meals, but enough so that he cooks as much as she does and hasn’t had any complaints.</p><p>“Now I’m curious.  Gonna make it a family meal or a romantic one then?”  There’s mischief in Michonne’s smile, reminding him of why the woman appeals to Daryl.</p><p>“I think she would prefer a family one,” he admits.  The woman being discussed is starting to study them through the window, and he would be concerned except he knows the windows are pretty soundproof.  “And she’s starting to look suspicious.”</p><p>“Aiming for a surprise party then?” Michonne asks, but Merle just shrugs.  He won’t go out of his way to keep it under wraps, but if the cards fall that way, even better.  Michonne bids him good night, setting off on a steady job that will have her catching up with the rest of her family before they get halfway home to the hotel.</p><p>Back inside, he steps into the kitchen, slipping up behind Princess for a suggestive caress across her hips and ass.  “Dishes will keep, you know.”</p><p>“I guess you want your actual birthday present then?” she quips.  When she drops the sponge into the rinse sink and reaches for the dish towel to dry her hands, he grins and picks her up.  It’s not the first time he’s just carried her off from some household chore, usually when she gets too wound up in keeping everything spick and span as if he actually cares as long as it’s not a pigsty.  He certainly doesn’t mind that her response is to giggle and slide her hands into his back pockets to grope his ass as he walks.</p><p>It isn’t until later, when she’s sprawled out asleep next to him, still gloriously, unapologetically naked that he allows himself to think about a few irregularities that are adding up to something significant enough he’s starting to worry.  The biggest one is getting hard to ignore, and he reaches out a hand to ease the sheet down past her hips.</p><p>When they first started fucking around, he mapped out her body pretty thoroughly, and while she certainly hadn’t been some stick thin woman, there had been small hollows near her hipbones.  While the changes could be attributed to a healthy diet of plentiful food, that sixth sense for something being out of place is tickling his mind.  He’s careful when he runs a hand across her stomach.  </p><p>Her waistline has changed, just enough that no one except him would notice, and he caught on to her breasts being unusually sensitive for the past week or so.  She’s sleeping a lot more, but the usual best evidence is one he can’t really count on.  Her period’s never been regular in any way, with her having only two since they’ve been living together.</p><p>Merle knows that’s normal for her, and Princess had been pretty adamant that she can’t get pregnant at all the one time they discussed it.  It’s probably one of her reasons for angling for a man his age, someone who wouldn’t be disappointed in that.  Impossible or not, he’s fairly certain he’s right, and now he wishes he’d actually asked for details instead of just being relieved when she’d told him they didn’t have to worry about birth control.</p><p>Settling the sheet back over her, he pulls the blankets up, too.  Their bedroom is reasonably warm from the fireplace in the living room, but the last few days have actually felt like winter.  The little schoolroom project of monitoring the weather is going to be useful in the future, he thinks.</p><p>Easing out of the bed and pulling on a pair of sweatpants, Merle figures he might as well finish off those dishes for her.  The chore will give him time to think over the ramifications of convincing her to go see Doc tomorrow.  No sense in getting worked up until he knows for sure.</p><p>~*~*~*~</p><p>The last thing Princess expected the morning after Merle’s birthday supper was to be snagged after having breakfast down at the hotel.  Normally, they still go their separate ways during the day, aside from a single shared off day during the week.  With the weather still in a wintery mode this week, she isn’t taking the kids out to the beaches.  Instead, she was planning on a soccer game in the field set up for sports purposes for the kids near the hotel.</p><p>His grip just above her elbow is gentle, but something about it makes her wonder if he thinks she’s going to bolt for some reason.  “Merle?  I’m supposed to be gathering up the kids, you know.”</p><p>He glances over at her and shakes his head.  “Lori said she’d look after them for an hour or so.”</p><p>Still clueless about the detour on her day’s plans, she just nods.  It isn’t until they reach the house that was converted for Denise’s use that she gets worried.  The community physician lives on the upper floors, along with Lilly Chambler and her daughter and sister, which keeps the medical staff close together.</p><p>“Merle?  Is everything okay?”  Because Princess isn’t entirely ignorant of the realities of pairing off with a man Merle’s age.  She’s not entirely sure why he would take her along to see the doctor for something he needs, but at the same time, it isn’t shocking if he did want someone along for moral support.</p><p>“I hope so.”  The short reply makes her worry, because something is pinging her alarms now.  He’s actually been a bit terse since they woke this morning, if she’s honest with herself, on edge in a way she’s not used to seeing him.  Part of her considered chalking it up to his birthday, but he hadn’t seemed that concerned about turning fifty-three.</p><p>Keeping quiet seems the best option until Merle decides to talk, so she watches in concern as he gently directs her to a seat in the infirmary area while he goes looking for Denise.  The psychiatrist turns up quickly, carrying a cup of steaming coffee, her curious gaze going between the two of them.  “Who’s the patient?”</p><p>Merle squares his shoulder like he’s about to spar with one of the soldiers before pointing toward Princess.  “She is.”</p><p>Baffled, Princess shrugs.  “I’m not sure why?”  Both she and Denise turn their attention to Merle, who doesn’t look directly at either of them.</p><p>“She needs a pregnancy test.”</p><p>It takes only a heartbeat for Princess to swing between offended and heartbroken at the blunt statement.  She told him it was impossible, and she knows she’s put on a little weight lately, but dammit, he didn’t seem the type to care if she did.  Apparently he had noticed more than she thought.  “I’m not pregnant, Merle.”</p><p>Denise gives her a kind look before turning to Merle.  “It’s highly unlikely that she’s pregnant,” she tells the man kindly, even as Princess watches his reactions with narrowed eyes.</p><p>The sideways glance he gives her tells her he’s going to be stubborn.  “I know women can skip their periods, but they don’t usually do it two months running without some good reason.  Something’s going on, if she’s not, so do your job and figure it out, Doc.”</p><p>“I’ve only missed one,” she asserts, until Merle shakes his head.</p><p>“Last time was end of October,” he states, making her do the calculation herself and realize he’s right.  With her cycle irregular and running on the longer end of things, sometimes a ‘missed month’ is just the thirty-five day thing shifting everything around.  She shouldn’t have had anything in November at all, but something should have happened in early December.  That’s one missed, and it’s far enough into January to account for a second one missed now.  </p><p>It’s still impossible, and between his standoffish behavior and ugly memories she doesn’t want to rehash, she’s a little pissed off.  Deciding that there’s only one way to solve this, she gets out of the chair and plops herself down on the exam table.  When he’s proven wrong, they can have a real fight later, at home, away from Denise’s watchful eyes.  “Fine.  Poke away.  Prove to this jerk I’m not pregnant.”</p><p>Caught in the growing tension between them, Denise sighs and goes to get supplies.  “Roll up your sleeve, and I’ll take some blood.  Then we’ll do a little physical while we wait on the machine to tell us.”</p><p>“No need to pee on a stick?” Princess asks, unbuttoning her flannel overshirt and dropping it behind her on the exam table so she can bare her arm for Denise.  The woman’s seen her scars before, and Princess likes how Denise pretends they’re something normal, like freckles, for any physical exam.</p><p>“Well, you could, but I need to draw blood, so might as well save you the trouble.”  Denise takes three vials before going to fiddle with the little hand held machine on the counter and setting up something.  Returning to Princess, she starts on a general physical, still glancing toward Merle.  The man is staring out a window now, not watching them at all.  “Merle can step out if you want him to.”</p><p>“Nope.  He stays, because he started this mess.”  Princess is a little glad when Merle gives a jerky nod, not arguing at all.</p><p>The point where Princess starts to get worried herself is when Denise’s timer goes off.  The doctor walks over to the counter and looks down, and all of her body language changes.  Denise tries to hide it, and it might even work on someone less set on reading such cues.  When the blonde turns and sees Princess staring at her, she doesn’t even try to hide the worry on her normally placid features.</p><p>“It’s positive,” Denise says, a note of urgency in her voice.  “We need to do an ultrasound <i>now</i>.”</p><p>That tone makes Merle turn, even as Denise switches on the machine in question and pushes it into place by the bed.  Princess blinks, her mind refusing to process, but obediently lays down on the exam table when Denise gives her shoulder a little push.  She doesn’t even bother to look at the screen, instead focusing on Merle.</p><p>He’s afraid, and she can’t figure out if it’s the idea of a baby or that Denise sounds like some TV doctor that’s rushing someone through the emergency room.  Her own mind doesn’t want to consider any of the medical implications, so she stares at Merle across all the space between them instead.  It’s not a huge room, just a room that was once a combined living and dining area, but it feels as big as earth to the moon right now.  It lets her ignore the cold gel on her belly, allowing the plastic wand to glide along her skin.</p><p>“Oh, thank God,” Denise breathes out.</p><p>“False positive?” Princess asks, because she’s not going to think about the impossible alternative.</p><p>“No.  Princess, you should look.”</p><p>It’s impossible, so she shakes her head, still watching Merle.  She’s never seen him so completely expressionless, and she realizes that he can probably see the screen, even if he’s too far away to see any details.  It’s confirmed when he moves closer, eyes narrowing as he stops just short of the exam table.</p><p>“Why aren’t you gonna look?” he asks, voice gruff.  There’s something broken and fragile beyond the roughness, and worry bubbles up to war with denial and anger for her.  “Don’t want it?”</p><p>There’s not a question of not wanting a baby, but that’s the sort of miracle that happens in stupid fairy tales.  Princess is far too old to believe in those, regardless of what she calls herself these days.  “I can’t.”</p><p>There’s a flash of pain in Merle’s eyes at her words.  He turns and stomps out of the room, and she flinches when she hears the front door slam.</p><p>Denise’s hand is warm when she takes Princess’s hand in hers.  “They used to tell us in medical school that it’s never entirely impossible in your situation, Princess.  Sometimes doctors are wrong, or the odds just shift in the realm of miracles.  You should look.”</p><p>So she does, and there’s the impossible of impossibles, right on the screen.</p><p>~*~*~*~</p><p>It had been easy enough last night to be detached from his suspicions, Merle knows, because deep down, he figured he would be wrong.  Doc would work her medical magic and tell him he’d been imagining shit, and then he would just deal with the fall out from mistaking five extra pounds as something more than it was.  Once he was in the room with the actual doctor present, all that calm tried to desert him.</p><p>Princess’s adamant denials and then outright refusal to even <i>look</i> at the screen makes him feel sick.  There’s no mistaking the image he can see, even with his initial refusal to cross the room.  Proof is on the screen, a baby far enough along to be recognized as such.  When he got closer, the small jumping movements look more like hiccups.</p><p>He hadn’t fucking known babies could have hiccups before they were even born.  Each time the little nose and chin jerk, it’s unmistakable.  </p><p>Being a father has never been something Merle wanted, and he made damn sure to be careful it didn’t happen.  It got easier as he got older and he stuck to women too old for any real risk, even if that carelessness got him a few rounds of antibiotics to his name.  He’d been stupid, to not consider it could happen with a woman as young as Princess no matter what she said; stupid and caught up in the idea of someone wanting to be around him for more than the occasional quick fuck.  </p><p>He could swallow it down and figure out a way to fucking deal with the idea, he knows.  Being an uncle to Andre and the girls isn’t all that hard, and he’s not the man who fucked up raising Daryl anymore.  Michonne would be sure to ride his ass to make sure he knows what the hell he’s doing.  The shrink could parrot words like ‘adequate support system’, and she’d be right.  For the first time in his life, he has a stable life, and he’s six months sober.</p><p>The reality is that Princess doesn’t want the baby, so it doesn’t matter what Merle can or cannot learn to do.  The worst part is that he can’t decide how he feels.  </p><p>The part of him that’s still cowed from years under Will Dixon’s fists says the world’s always been better off without more Dixons in it, and if there are more, Daryl’s the one with a right to it.  His brother is a good man despite their origins.  He’s a good father to Andre, and Merle’s honestly been counting the days until he gets some sort of goofy admission from Daryl that he’s knocked Michonne up.  Merle’s got no damn business spawning, and he knows it.</p><p>There’s a newer part of him that is the reason he couldn’t stay in that room while Princess and Doc figured out how to fix the mess Merle’s blundered them into by being irresponsible.  It’s the Merle who has finally comprehended that Princess’s sneaky Spanish spoken admissions of love is a mutual state, even if he hasn’t found the balls to admit it to her yet.  That’s the part of him that thinks if he could love someone who isn’t Daryl (or Andre, Enid, and Lydia, because those three little shits have burrowed right in there next to his brother in Merle’s zealously guarded affections), loving a baby might not be hard at all.</p><p>She doesn’t want the baby, so it doesn’t matter.  He’s an asshole, but not that kind of asshole, to insist she stay pregnant when it wasn’t intentional.  It’s her choice, and she was scared just now, in a way he should be ashamed of himself for being out here and not in there.  Hell, he couldn’t even make it off the goddamn porch of the house they turned into Doc’s domain.  Sitting on the front steps, he just tries not to choke on the conflicting and overwhelming emotions.  When the door opens behind him, he just holds his head in his hands, not capable of acknowledging whoever is behind him yet.</p><p>“You need to come back inside.”  The stern warning in Doc’s voice makes him stiffen as he turns to look at her over his shoulder.  He’s never seen the woman look so determined, as if all her softness is turning to steel as she stares at him.  “Now.”</p><p>For once in his life, Merle does the smart thing without being too stubborn for his own good and follows her back inside.</p><p>~*~*~*~</p><p>Although it was treated as a weakness when Princess was younger, she’s never been afraid to cry when she needs to.  Usually there’s a good reason, one she knows and understands.  Right now, it’s such a storm of confusing and conflicting emotions that she can’t quite sort it out.</p><p>“How?” she asks softly, face wet with tears she doesn’t even bother to try to wipe away.</p><p>Denise squeezes her hand.  “It’s called recanalization, where the Fallopian tube reforms a new passage after the original is removed or damaged.  Usually, it requires surgery to happen, but the human body is remarkable for its ability to correct itself.  If you weren’t pregnant, we could do a specialized ultrasound to take a look, but I think the baby is evidence by itself.”</p><p>“Is it healthy?”  Trusting that unfeeling doctor years ago seems so naive now, when she can see the evidence of just how wrong the man was right in front of her.  It’s easier to focus on the little miracle, and be angry at the elitist jerk long ago in Pittsburgh, than to think about the fact that Merle <i>left</i>.  </p><p>“As far as I can tell, yes.”  Denise moves the wand around, letting Princess see the profile of the baby, complete with tiny nose and chin.  It’s nothing like the unidentifiable blob that accompanied the diagnosis of an ovarian ectopic pregnancy when she was seventeen, one that had resulted in the removal of both ovary and fallopian tube.  “You’re eleven weeks pregnant, by the measurements, which fits the date of your last period.”</p><p>“Oh, God.  That’s almost second trimester.”  She hasn’t been doing anything a pregnant woman should be doing, like taking special vitamins and naps and all that special stuff, although at least she hasn’t been drinking.  It never seems fair to drink around Merle, and she honestly doesn’t miss it.  There’s a fluttering on the screen in the unmistakable position of the baby’s heart.</p><p>“It is, which is a good thing, in a way.  At least you’re mostly beyond the highest risk period for miscarriage.”  Denise prints out a few stills of the screen before setting the wand down.  “I am right that you want to continue the pregnancy, aren’t I?”</p><p>Princess finally wipes at the tears on her face, nodding.  It doesn’t matter if Merle hates her for telling him this couldn’t happen.  This baby is an amazing blessing she never thought would happen to her.  With one ovary gone and the other tube so damaged by infection to be beyond repair, she always thought motherhood far out of her reach.  IVF had been a pipe dream for someone of her means, back when the world was still normal.</p><p>“I’m going to go make daddy come back inside,” Denise announces, after wiping the sticky gel off Princess’s belly.  “He’s had time to let things sink in.”</p><p>“It’s not his fault,” she starts to say, but Denise waves it off, marching over to the front door while Princess manages to sit up.  When she doesn’t actually leave the building, Princess realizes Merle didn’t go very far at all.</p><p>His shoulders are slumped when he crosses the room, and he doesn’t seem to notice that Denise goes out onto the porch and shuts the door, leaving them alone.  When he sits down on Denise’s stool, he finally meets her eyes.</p><p>It’s not disappointment or anger she sees, but sorrow, and she can’t help but reach out, tangling her fingers in the front of his shirt and tugging him to her.  He slides his arms around her waist and buries his face in her lap.  She doesn’t understand, not really, not even when he shocks her when she realizes he’s crying.  Placing a gentle hand on the curls at the nape of his neck, she looks at the frozen image on the screen.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says at last, because apologizing is something she’s always been good at.  “You don’t have to be responsible, because you didn’t ask for it.”</p><p>It makes him react, because he goes so very, very still against her.  When he sits up, she misses the warmth of his arms around her as he grips his knees instead.  “I don’t know how to be a father.”</p><p>“I don’t know how to be a mother, either.”  Playing with the island’s kids, even teaching them, that’s nothing anyone couldn’t do.  It’s not the day in and day out of being a parent, like Daryl and Michonne are to their kids.  “But I think I know how not to be a bad one.  I’m just going to do the opposite of anything my mother ever did.”</p><p>“That could work.”  Merle studies her, searching her expression in that shrewd way of his that she admires, because he’s always understood people better than she does.  “I’m not going anywhere.  If you think I can learn, I’ll do my best, but you gotta promise me something.”</p><p>“What’s that?”  The relief that he’s not going to leave her all on her own with this is nearly overwhelming, no matter how much she knows she could cope on her own if she has to.</p><p>“If I slip up, take a drink, punch a wall, even so much as <i>blink</i> wrong, you don’t give me a second chance.  Not for you, not for the baby.”</p><p>“I promise.”  There’s no hesitation in her voice.  She loves this man, but she’ll never allow him to make her or their child afraid of him.</p><p>The relief in his expression is when Princess truly understands a fundamental difference between her and Merle, despite both coming from childhoods of unthinkable abuse.  She’s never feared becoming a monster, but Merle?  He’s been one, and he’s absolutely terrified in a way she can never understand, but he’s here, and underneath the fear, there’s a yearning that matches her own.</p><p>Princess thought that the chance to have her own family stolen from her after years of abuse, and later, she’ll finally tell Merle the details that even Denise doesn’t know about that pregnancy seven years ago.  Merle deliberately withheld that same chance from himself out of the knowledge he was capable of becoming his father in ways he rarely likes to acknowledge.  Life decided they both get a chance, so they’ll just have to figure their shit out.</p><p>Leaning in, she cups his face between her hands and kisses him, not just on the lips, but on his cheeks and forehead and even his eyes as they slide close.  It’s tender and far more chaste than anything they’ve ever done.  His arms move around her waist again as he leans against her stomach makes her realize everything’s about to change in their lives, but she thinks it’s going to be worth it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's a longer than usual chapter, but I figured if I had cliffied it with Merle walking out, y'all would be throwing the virtual rotten fruit my way.  The next chapter for the series will be another one for this one, with the reactions to the baby coming forth for all the Dixons.</p><p>Princess's medical issues (and her teenage pregnancy) will be explained in a little more detail in the next chapter.</p><p>We'll switch back to Shane and Lori for the chapter after that, before Rick finally gets to peek back into the series again.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Gonna Need Your Help</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Merle tells Daryl about the baby, and Daryl makes some changes in his own family life as a result.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>January 15, 2011</p><p>Months of calm family gatherings had given Daryl a false sense of security, he thinks, where his brother is concerned.  His initial thought when Michonne mentions that both Merle and Princess had taken an unexpected day off duty, was just that the two were messing around.  Everyone’s entitled to having one of those days.</p><p>As responsible as Merle is now, neither Daryl nor Michonne really thought much of it.  Merle hadn’t been scheduled to go off the island for anything, and there are plenty of competent people to oversee the shooting range.  But when day two rolls around, and the man actually reschedules a supply run, concern about his brother taking some sort of step backwards sends Daryl down to Merle’s house.  The only reason he’s not truly worried is that Princess appeared for breakfast and took her kiddies off for morning activities.</p><p>He is a little surprised to find Merle outside the house, down at the duck pens erected to provide a hopefully predator free nighttime area for the runner ducks Princess found.  The female is a bit of a ditzy thing when it comes to actually looking after the ducklings that hatched, so after the first round of duck babysitting that Princess engaged the kids on, an adjacent chicken run was set up.  A quartet of especially broody hens seem perfectly happy raising the baby ducklings they hatched when additional duck eggs were snuck into their nests before the female duck stopped laying when the weather turned colder around Christmas time.</p><p>“Something wrong with the ducks?” Daryl asks when he gets in earshot.</p><p>Merle moves away from where he’s watching a flock of seven tiny ducklings following a fluffy, creamsicle colored chicken around the chicken run.  “Nah.  Let the older ones out to forage.  Was just watching the smaller ones.”</p><p>They’d found a book about this particular type of duck in one of the houses, where the pair had originally been kept as pets to keep the large yard free of pests like slugs.  Letting them out to scavenge worries the softer hearted among the islanders, but so far letting the larger ducks roam during the daytime hasn’t resulted in a single lost duck.  Daryl’s brought Andre down here more than once to help call the ducks home, because the toddler thinks watching the ‘penguin ducks’ come running for the nighttime treats used to lure them to their coop is the best thing ever.</p><p>His brother still hasn’t looked directly at Daryl, which has him a little concerned.  “You okay?” he asks, concern blooming more to worry now.  Everything about Merle’s body language is subdued in a way he’s never seen the man behave.</p><p>“It will be.”  Finally, Merle turns to meet Daryl’s gaze.  “Princess is pregnant.  Due first week of August.”</p><p>The idea of his brother having a child is almost too foreign to consider for a brief second.  Merle’s never wanted kids, to the point he wouldn’t even give a woman with kids a second look in years past.  His interest in Michonne had been extremely unusual.  But when Daryl looks closely, really looks at Merle, he sees the older man is torn between fear - and want.  He wants this baby, and he’s terrified.  </p><p>Daryl sweeps Merle into a rib-creaking bear hug before he’s fully processed the emotions he sees, and it’s not surprising that he’s embraced in return with equal strength.  “That’s amazing, Merle,” he mutters.  “Fucking amazing.”</p><p>The noise Merle makes sounds disbelieving, and Daryl almost expects to be let go and pushed away.  Instead, he can barely hear the response, Merle’s voice is so rough.  “I can’t fuck this up.”</p><p>It’s Daryl that pulls back then, because he needs to see Merle’s face.  “You raised me.  Ought to be easy enough, after that.”</p><p>Because Merle made a lot of mistakes over the years, being a kid raising a sibling, but the odds had been stacked so heavily against him that Daryl’s amazed either of them made it to adulthood most days.  Their eight year age difference wasn’t enough and was too much, all at the same time.  What he does remember most is that their daddy never laid a hand on Daryl until Merle joined the Marines, because Merle always took the brunt of the old man’s wrath.</p><p>Merle chuckles, some of the fear in his expression receding.  “You were an easy baby, Daryl.  Can’t get that lucky twice, I bet.”</p><p>“Well, considering it’s yours and Princess’s kid, probably not.”  Daryl just grins, and that feeling of this being a good thing just continues to grow.  His life has only gotten better with Andre and the girls in it, so he can’t imagine this not giving Merle yet another anchor to keep his life on course like it’s been since last summer.</p><p>“Jesus, Daryl, don’t jinx us.”  Merle finally lets him go, tilting his head toward the house.  “You eat breakfast before you came looking for me to see why I was playing hooky again?”  When Daryl shakes his head, his brother sighs.  “C’mon up.  I’ll fix you something.”</p><p>Something turns out to be what looks like hashbrowns with onions and jalapenos, but with jicama instead of potatoes, and a slice of ham thanks to the smokehouse Merle had his baby soldiers build.  Daryl sits at the table in the breakfast nook, content to eat as quietly as he’d watched Merle cook, while Merle washes the dishes and adds them to what’s already in the drain rack.  It’s not a foreign sight to him, having lived with Merle most of his life, but the sunny, pristine kitchen’s setting is.</p><p>Most of their residences as adults had been barely a step above the falling apart cabin or trailers of their youth.  The one thing that hadn’t changed was his brother’s fastidiousness about even the most bleak living quarters being scrupulously clean.  Vague memories of their mama still being alive stir in the back of Daryl’s mind, combine with the fact that even then, it was his brother taking care of the house.  Daryl isn’t sure he remembers a time when his mother wasn’t drunk or hungover, leaving Merle to keep them fed and clean.</p><p>This comfortable quiet?  That’s from that time period, too.  Merle’s garrulous brashness was never his base nature, just a camouflage.  It’s a reminder that outside of the necessary drill sergeant yelling when training others, his brother’s been almost tranquil for months now.</p><p>“Guess we have a nursery to fix up, don’t we?” Daryl says once he’s passed his empty plate to Merle to wash.  He leans against the counter, smiling when his brother pauses in mid-wash to stare at him.  “I mean, we can’t just stick the kid in a dresser drawer, right?”</p><p>The reference to the only cradle Daryl’s ever been told he had makes Merle smile himself.  “Pretty sure if I tried that, you’d never find my body once Princess was done with me.”  Merle slots the rinsed plate into the dish rack and dries his hands.  “She thought she couldn’t have kids, you know.”</p><p>Daryl thinks it makes a lot of sense, Princess gravitating toward an older man, if that was the case.  “Must be a hell of a shock for her then.  How’s she taking it?”</p><p>“Like it’s a God given miracle.”  Merle leans against the counter himself.  “When she was a teenager, she got pregnant, except it was ectopic.”  At Daryl’s frown, Merle clarifies.  “Outside the uterus.  Her tubes were scarred up from an infection, so it ended up by the ovary.  Something ruptured, and she spent two weeks in the hospital fighting off sepsis after they removed the damaged ovary.  Doctors told her she’d essentially had a tubal on the other side, the scarring was so bad.”</p><p>“Damn.”  It sounds like utter hell for a girl to go through.</p><p>“Worst part was that her mama told her she wasn’t welcome at home after that, getting herself knocked up out of wedlock and all.  That’s how she ended up in Florida.  Figured if she was gonna be homeless, being homeless where there’s no snow was better than Pittsburgh.”</p><p>Merle leaves the kitchen then, leading Daryl to the bedroom, where he retrieves two little slips of paper from a bedside table.  He passes them both over, letting Daryl take in the unmistakable outline of a baby’s face in profile on the top one.  “Jesus.  You said August, right?”</p><p>“That’s Doc’s best estimate.”  The older man sits heavily on the neatly made bed, watching Daryl.  Like most of the house, the bedroom is sunlit and cheerfully decorated, and a year ago, Merle never would have suited such a place.  Now, Daryl’s glad he has this life he’s missed out on for so many years.  Princess is good for Merle in ways Daryl never expected her to be.</p><p>“I’m gonna need your help, baby brother.”  It’s softly spoken, a plaintive request like he’s never heard from Merle, startling Daryl out of his thoughts.</p><p>“Of course I’m gonna help, Merle.  You’re making me an uncle.”  Daryl takes one last look before he lays the ultrasound prints back on the bedside table.  Clapping a hand firmly on Merle’s shoulder, he grins.  “C’mon.  Let’s go check out the houses that don’t have your soldiers shacked up on them.  Gotta be neighbors like those old sitcoms, right?”</p><p>It’s the right thing to say, because the hesitation bleeds right out of Merle’s body language.  “Neighbors, hell yeah.”</p><p>Michonne will forgive him, he thinks, for pushing ahead on something like this.  Staying at the hotel isn’t their long term plan, just the easiest one right now for what she jokes is her morning commute.  Merle needs him, needs to see Daryl and his little family up close, so closer they’re going to get.</p><p>~*~*~*~</p><p>Getting settled into a new place on short notice wasn’t in Michonne’s plans for the day when she woke up today.  But it’s how things played out, and honestly, she’s a little glad that events hastened her timeline on moving out of the hotel.  Still, waiting until Eugene had the house hooked into the grid might have been wiser.</p><p>Once Daryl brought her and the kids down to look at houses near Merle, she knew something was up.  He hasn’t held himself that on edge since Atlanta around her.  She doesn’t ask, not in front of the kids, and he doesn’t volunteer.</p><p>The vote ends up being for the house catty corner to Merle, with the backyards connecting at one corner.  She knows Daryl would probably be happier with one of the two that face the river, but this one has a bedroom for Andre that overlooks the ducks.  It’s the selling point for everyone else.</p><p>Lighting the oil lamp, she carries it into their new bedroom.  Airing out the house had meant chilling it down, and the whole place still needs a thorough scrubbing.  But the beds have fresh linens from the hotel, and it actually had a woodburning fireplace.  The fire’s chasing away the cold, slowly but surely.</p><p>“Kids are all snug as bugs.”  Daryl crosses the room to draw her close.  It’s a hug for comfort, so she lets him lean into her.</p><p>“You ready to share what has you feeling like you need to be within shouting distance of your brother?”</p><p>He takes a deep breath before kissing her on the temple and moving away.  Clearing his throat, he shuts the door and leans against it.  “It’s hers to share, when she wants it shared, got it?”</p><p>Now Michonne is getting worried, because there’s a gravity to Daryl’s voice she doesn’t hear often.  Focusing on what he’s saying, she keys in on the ‘she’ and not ‘he’.  “Alright.  Is Princess okay?”</p><p>“She’s about three months pregnant.”</p><p>“I see.  That’s usually around the time a woman starts telling people.  I would assume she’s happy about it.” Because honestly, Michonne’s reaction hinges on that.  Other than yesterday’s unplanned day off, she hasn’t noticed anything off with the younger woman.  She’s been looking as perky as ever, seeming content and settled into island life.</p><p>“Merle says she is.”  Daryl edges away from the door, coming to sit on the bed with a sigh, before explaining the complicated parts.  By the end, Michonne is sitting beside him, her fingers laced in his.  “It hurts to see him scared.  Merle’s never scared, ‘Chonne.”</p><p>“Your brother doesn’t give himself enough credit,” she tells Daryl, smiling at the naked hope in his eyes at her words.  “He’ll manage this, and we’ll all help.  It’s not like they’re on their own.  Although it explains the nearly shared backyard.”</p><p>She means it, too.  Having lived with Mike, she knows she can’t just blame the addiction for his complete lack of interest in Andre.  He never wanted their son, and he didn’t have a paternal bone in his body.  Some people simply weren’t meant to be parents, and she had refused to see that for a long time.  </p><p>Merle isn’t the same as Mike, not by any stretch of the imagination.  She’s seen him with Andre and the girls too many times to not understand Merle likes kids.  More importantly, kids like Merle, and maybe they’re young adults, but even his soldiers prove that.  </p><p>“He’s the only one who ever looked after me as a kid, you know.  Didn’t always do a good job of it, but at least he tried.”  Daryl’s calm, affectionate admission tugs at her heartstrings, while conjuring a mental image of a toddler Daryl chasing after a near-teenage Merle.  It would have been hard to picture when she first met the men, but the longer she’s known them both, the more it crystalizes in her mind.</p><p>Michonne smiles at Daryl, allowing a little mischief to dance in it.  “We need to find him all the parenting books.  Throw in a few about knitting for babies if we can find them.”</p><p>Daryl laughs, caught unexpectedly by her shift to humor.  “Asshole will probably read them all if we do.  Then knit some wardrobe for the baby out of spite.”</p><p>“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”  <br/>“Thank you,” he says softly.</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>“Not assuming he’ll mess this up.”  His hair is getting longer, in need of a trim, so he can almost hide his blue eyes behind it as he glances over to her.  There’s a vulnerability there that she thinks isn’t entirely tied to Merle, and she realizes this isn’t just about his brother’s potential fatherhood.  It’s about Daryl’s actual role in Andre and the girls’ lives.</p><p>It’s ironic that he seeks her approval even with Enid and Lydia, who are far less attached to her.  That relationship, hers with the girls, is what she assumes being a stepparent would feel like, as if the two girls had been Daryl’s daughters for years instead of adopting him after the fall of the refugee center.  The shift from mentor and guardian to father had been a subtle one, one that Daryl only truly noticed when she accidentally told Enid to hand something to her father and supper.  Enid hadn’t hesitated to pass the dish over to Daryl.</p><p>“He won’t, and he has you to set the good example for him to follow,” she tells him.  “You’re a good father, Daryl, and I’m glad Andre will grow up with only memories of you as his dad.  He loves you, and the girls love you, and I love you.”</p><p>Leaning in for a kiss, Michonne isn’t surprised when Daryl heats it up almost instantly.  Months together has taught her he likes to deal with the aftermath of heighted emotions with sex.  He does better with actions than words, but he surprises her when they pause for breath.  “You know I love them.  Love you, too.”</p><p>It’s not that he doesn’t say it to her, but usually it’s after, not before, as if he needs to lower his barriers to manage it properly.  That’s a contrast to the kids, where he responds easily when the kids toss an ‘I love you’ his way.  Then again, she’s heard him even tell Merle openly that he loves him.  Familial love is more understandable to Daryl than romantic, she thinks, and curses the brothers’ background once again for hurting them the way it did.</p><p>She doesn’t comment on the change, running her hands across his broad shoulders and down to start unbuttoning his shirt.  “We have a new bed to break in,” she suggests, grinning when he responds to that idea with utmost enthusiasm.</p><p>Later, when she’s sprawled out on her belly, drowsy with the aftermath of pleasure, she feels his hand gently stroking her back.  Raising her head up just enough to look at him where he’s laying on his side beside her, she quirks an eyebrow at him.  “Something on your mind still?”</p><p>“Is that something that we might do one day?  Have a baby?”  He doesn’t drop his eyes like he normally might when asking something important.  It’s sad that even after what they’ve become to each other, she thinks he expects her to say no.</p><p>They barely skimmed over the topic of birth control, after Daryl apologized in embarrassment for forgetting a condom before their first enthusiastic time together.  Her implant soothed most of his worries, although he professed lengthily that she didn’t have to worry about anything else, either.  That second issue had spawned Michonne asking Denise to run physicals on everyone on the island.  The last thing they needed was a sexually transmitted disease running rampant, so everyone got tested within the limitations of the doctor’s little lab.</p><p>“I hope there are babies in our future, yeah,” she tells him, smiling as the impact of the plural sinks in for him.</p><p>Daryl grins, that lopsided and shy smile of his that makes her insides turn to complete mush.  If luck favors her in any way, their future children will inherit that smile, because it needs to be passed on.  “Babies,” he drawls slowly.  “Guess you gotta keep me around a long time then.”</p><p>“I’m pretty set on as long as I live.”</p><p>That makes him blink, and she understands, because almost everything about their relationship has been just quietly assumed, rarely openly declared.  But he nods.  “Ain’t planning on going anywhere unless you make me.”</p><p>“Maybe you should make an honest woman of me then, Daryl Dixon, before we start adding all those babies to the world.”  It’s a risk, perhaps, dangling that sort of permanence out there, but she also knows he’ll never ask if she doesn’t invite it.  She’s considered asking him herself, and maybe she will have to, one day, but why not test the waters?</p><p>Daryl swallows hard, eyes narrowing just a little.  “Not proposing naked in bed,” he says <br/>grumpily before kissing her with enough fervor to tell her it’s not happening tonight, but it will.  Michonne has absolutely no objections to waiting, to see what he decides is more appropriate, so for now, she leads him into other activities suited for being naked in bed.  It’s enough to know they’re both on the same page, looking forward to a forever together that includes a family much larger than either of them have had for years.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter for the series will be Judith's birth, and then finally Rick learns his family never made it to the refugee center...</p><p>Ugh on the delayed chapter.  Watching Season 8 made me struggle to write Daryl at all.  S8 Daryl is definitely NOT my cup of tea at all.  S8 as a whole generally sucks, making me glad I stopped actively watching the show, although BetaDaughter and I are having fun moments for the things that have nothing to do with the real plotline, like Ezekiel's gorgeous eyes and Jadis wanting to sculpt Rick naked.  We'll tackle Carl's last episode today.  UGH.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Make Them Count</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Princess and Merle both consider the changes their daughter brings to their life, with Merle coming to terms with certain regrets about his past as he becomes a father.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Last chapter, folks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>January - August 2011</b>
  </span>
</p><p>One of the things Princess feared the most about the baby is that it would change the fundamentals of her relationship with Merle.  Leaving everything open ended and unspoken works well for them, as much as it would drive the average person crazy.  Adding a child to the mix is the type of thing that makes most couples reevaluate where they’re headed together.</p><p>But other than his brother’s family moving to a house that practically shares their backyard, everything goes on as normal.  No one asks her to change her duty schedule, and Merle sticks to his.  She visits Denise once a week for the first month, since the lack of prenatal care in the first trimester worries the doctor, but the baby is meeting all the expected milestones.  Once that’s confirmed, she’s back to once a month.</p><p>She actually makes it to the twenty-first week of her pregnancy before anyone notices, since they only told the immediate family.  It helps, she thinks, that she’s got a curvy physique anyway, so most adults will err on the side of caution of assuming extra weight is pregnancy.  But by the end of March, the weather is warm enough most days to start reducing layers, and switching to henleys stolen from Merle’s stash doesn’t disguise her growing belly as much.</p><p>“Princess?” It’s Mika, looking hesitant yet curious while they empty a crab basket together.  Other kids are fishing off the pier, plenty experienced by now on what to keep and what to throw back.</p><p>“Yes, sweetie?” she asks, dropping bait back in the basket before dropping it back into the water.</p><p>“Are you having a baby like my mama?”</p><p>Princess laughs and nods.  “About the same time, I think.”  She’s heard enough of the gossip since Carl’s father miraculously returned from the dead, bringing along a new wife who happened to be Mika and Lizzie’s missing stepmama.  It made her worry for Lori, who has always been sweetly friendly to Princess, but whatever drama happened didn’t spill out into the community.  Shane and Lori are still firmly a couple with their adorable baby daughter, and Rick seems truly content with the girls’ mama.</p><p>“That’s awesome.  Maybe they’ll grow up to be friends, like me and Sophia.”  The young teenager is much kinder than the girls Princess knew at that age, patiently nice to Mika despite the three year age difference in ways that the more bold personalities of Lizzie and Carl don’t quite manage.</p><p>“I bet they will.  Probably along with Judy and Gracie.”  With the other pregnancies announced on the island, Princess thinks they’ll need something more official than the makeshift daycare Joanna runs eventually.  She still hasn’t decided what to do once the baby is born, but if all else fails, she’ll take an idea from her Abuelita’s stories and just put the baby in a sling to go everywhere she does.  It worked for women for generations, so why not now?</p><p>Since Mika is far too young to keep anything secret, the pregnancy is island wide news by nightfall.  Where Merle and the family haven’t changed anything around her, others can’t seem to not comment, although at least it’s mostly congratulations.  She thinks even if someone disapproves, they’re too wary of the fact that Merle’s part of the island’s leadership to risk offending her.  </p><p>She lets the hubbub fade, glad that being one of several pregnancies is less noteworthy than being the first, like Lori’s had been.  Most people leave her be, after a few bolder ones tried the old ‘rub the belly’ crap and got a stern lecture from more than just Princess about personal space.  The kids she works with every day?  Them asking if the baby’s moving yet and being curious is fine with her.  She can even see letting them feel, especially the shyly curious ones like Mika.  But adults?  Hell, no.</p><p>They’re halfway through April before she really understands she’s feeling the baby move.  The small flutters are distinctive now, at twenty-four weeks.  She’s seen the baby moving on the ultrasound screen, but this is so much different.  </p><p>“You okay, sunshine?” Merle asks.  He’s sitting on the couch next to her, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose while he reads.  His gaze isn’t on the book anymore, but where her hand is laid against her belly.</p><p>Princess reaches out to take his hand and lays it over that spot.  It takes a minute, but then there’s a distinctive nudge, and Merle grins, that happy, open expression she adores seeing.  “Seems like your mini-me is saying hello finally.”</p><p>She giggles, nodding.  “Just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she’ll be my mini-me, you know.  She could be yours.”</p><p>Merle snorts, shaking his head.  “World doesn’t need that, and she’ll be as pretty as her mama, you just watch and see.”  He’s quiet for a minute, smiling softly when the baby moves again under his thumb.  “What was your Abuelita’s name?”</p><p>It seems like a random question, but Princess answers.  “Maria Soledad, but she went by Marisol.”</p><p>“And Sanchez?  That your mother’s name or father’s?”</p><p>Arching a brow at the specific questions, she shrugs.  “My father’s.  They didn’t follow the tradition of also giving me my mother’s surname.”</p><p>“I know you don’t use your surname, but could the baby?”</p><p>Princess freezes at the suggestion, her mind turning it over.  It isn’t really her surname that bothers her, especially as it’s all she really has left of the father she can barely remember.  Her first name is the issue, because she’s named for her mother, and if she can reject that connection, she will.  She explains that to Merle, then frowns.  “You don’t want her to have your last name.”</p><p>Merle clears his throat, setting aside his book and reading glasses and turning so he’s able to meet her eyes.  “I don’t want her to carry my father’s last name.  I want it to die out, like it ought to.  I want her to have a better legacy than that.”</p><p>The pieces fall into place for her now, about the questions.  “You want to name her for my Abuelita.”</p><p>“Yeah.  There’s no one I want to honor or tell her stories about, except Daryl, and I’m pretty sure he’d kick my ass if I named her after him.”</p><p>“I dunno.  There was that pretty actress with that name.  Same spelling even,” she teases to buy time to deal with the emotions surging through her.  Even though Sanchez was her grandmother’s married name, one that didn’t even show on her American documentation because the person who did her immigration paperwork didn’t understand Colombian surname practices, it would be a connection all the same.</p><p>“Something tells me that wouldn’t pass inspection with him.  Plus I made fun of his name for a lot of years, calling him Darlena.  It would probably be a bad reminder.”</p><p>“Makes sense.  So you want to name our daughter Maria?  Maria Soledad Sanchez?”</p><p>“Sounds right pretty, especially the nickname.  Little Marisol.”</p><p>Princess agrees, thinking of all the stories she can tell her miracle baby of the original Marisol and a far away country that maybe one day, her daughter might even visit.  Travel by land for long distances may be nearly impossible, but the Caribbean Sea isn’t impossible to sail across.  The two former King’s County deputies are proving that as they pass along the skills needed to allow the island to rely as much on the sea as the walker-infested land.</p><p>It’s not until later, when they’re in bed, and the baby is making her presence known in a format Merle jokingly calls the Popomatic Bubble that something else occurs to her.  “You know, Michonne and Daryl might have kids one day.  The Dixon surname might stick around.”</p><p>Merle’s quiet long enough that she shifts so she can look at him over her shoulder.  He catches the concerned look and kisses her shoulder.  “If Daryl wants to make something new of it, that’s his choice, and I won’t argue it.  But I can’t do it, sweetheart.  I just can’t.”</p><p>She hates the sadness the statement brings over him, so she distracts him with kisses, which leads to something more.  If it makes him happy to have their daughter named anything but Dixon, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.</p><p>By the end of July, Princess feels like a beached whale, and she’s actually jealous of Alex, whose babies came early.  She knows it’s common for twins to arrive well before their due date, and she’s glad they were healthy.  But it’s nearly August in Georgia, and even being on the coast isn’t enough to cope with being nine months pregnant.</p><p>She’s huge and miserable and grumpy.  Her official due date isn’t until August eighth, and according to Denise, there’s no sign that labor is going to start anytime soon.</p><p>“Who pissed you off?” Merle asks, dropping into the seat beside her on their back patio and offering her one of the two glasses of lemonade he’s carrying. </p><p>He’s sweaty and smells of gunpowder, although today it’s not from the range.  One of the supply teams found a reloading station and a wealth of supplies in a garage on the mainland and brought it back.  They’d thought it would be a trial and error thing, learning to reload spent ammo, but it turned out Eugene actually knew how to do it.  Now those with the requisite mechanical skill take turns pulling shifts to bulk up their ammo supply.</p><p>“Georgia.”  It’s a spiteful near-growl, not actual speech.  There hasn’t even been much of a breeze today, and her girth and slowed movement is finally at the point that she’s officially on leave until the birth.</p><p>He chuckles. “The entire state specifically?”</p><p>“The weather.  We’re never having another summer baby.”</p><p>“Alright.  Guess we’ll plan the next one better.”</p><p>That startles her out of her bad mood.  Declaring she never wanted to be pregnant in summer again was something she always heard women pregnant in the South’s heat and humidity say, so it just sort of slipped out.  His easy acceptance of more than one child?  That’s different.  She blinks at him in surprise, which makes him laugh.</p><p>“I may be too old to be starting out as a father, Princess,” he tells her, smiling.  “But I love you.  If nature will allow, she deserves a sibling or two.”</p><p>At first, she’s too caught up in the wonder of them having more than one child after their surprise daughter that she almost misses what else slipped into that sentence.  It’s not that she doesn’t know he loves her, because she can’t mistake how he quietly cares for her for anything else.  Sex is one thing, but they’ve built a life together, one that involves housework and hobbies and occasional pissy moods that lead to shouting and makeup sex.</p><p>Michonne once told her that the Dixon brothers reminded her of feral animals when she first met them, and the longer Princess has known them, the more she agrees.  Daryl’s more canine in nature, easier to give his loyalty and devout once he does.  Merle?  He’s all feline.  But she knows how battered old tomcats are when they decide a person is worth their time.  It’s why she hasn’t needed the words.  Once Merle decided he was hers, nothing short of death is going to change that.</p><p>“I love you, too,” she replies, doing her best to just assimilate it as part of her day.  She catches the sly smirk on his face at the calm reply, not well hidden behind his glass of lemonade and smiles herself.</p><p>They watch the sunset from their patio chairs, and she just feels grateful for her good fortune.  This is the life she was always meant to lead, that they were both meant to lead, and if it took a lot of pain, heartache, and mistakes to get here, at least it means they know how precious this is for them both.</p><p>~*~*~*~</p><p>August fifteenth is the day that Merle gets the reminder of what love at first sight is like.  He’s never believed in that bullshit that Hollywood churns out, where two strangers meet and it’s just instant, after whatever contrived hijinks need to keep ticket buyers interested.  Love at first sight has nothing to do with men and women or any other romantic combination whatsoever.</p><p>It’s this moment, that first time you stare into a newborn’s eyes and know that this new person is yours in a way that no one else will ever be.  He’d done it once with Daryl, and now it’s his daughter cradled in his arms.  </p><p>Marisol blinks up at him with slate blue eyes that he knows will darken into the rich, velvety brown of her mother’s eyes. He thinks he’s gotten his wish that she’ll look like Princess as well, if the tuft of jet black hair sticking up on her hair despite her mama’s efforts to smooth it down is any evidence.</p><p>“Jesus, she’s so tiny,” Daryl says, reaching across his arm to brush a work-roughed finger as gently as possible against the baby’s cheek.</p><p>At just over six pounds, Merle supposes she is small, but Daryl had been about the same, although born two weeks early instead of one week late.  She’s well fed and falling asleep, content in his arms while Princess gets a shower.  It hadn’t been a hard labor, thank God, and fairly short for a first baby according to Denise.  But the last thirteen hours have changed his life in the same significant way that Daryl being born did.</p><p>It reminds him that he hasn’t shared his decision about the baby’s name with his brother yet, and before there’s a horde of family descending, he ought to get it out of the way.  “We’re not naming her Dixon.”</p><p>Daryl blinks, turning his gaze from his niece to his brother.  “I’m not really surprised by that, you know.  She gonna be a Sanchez then, or something else entirely?”</p><p>“Sanchez, for Princess’s father.  Maria Soledad for her grandmother.  We’re gonna call her Marisol though.”</p><p>“It’s a pretty name.”  The baby latches on to Daryl’s finger, tilting her head to find the new voice above her.  “I’m gonna call her Tadpole though.”</p><p>Merle can’t help laughing.  “I’d say you’d answer to her mama for that, but something tells me that Princess will find it hilarious.”  He might end up the only one using anything close to his daughter’s actual name, knowing his family.  Tadpole will amuse them all.</p><p>“You want to go fetch the hellions to come meet their cousin?” Merle asks.</p><p>“I will, in a minute.”  Daryl rustles in a pocket on his cargo pants and pulls out a small leather pouch.  He holds it for a minute, staring at his hand, before opening the pouch to tip a silver ring out to rest on his palm.  “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask Michonne to marry me.  I know she’ll say yes, but…”</p><p>“Asking’s still enough to drive you crazy,” Merle finishes, arching a brow.  Marriage was something Princess hadn’t cared to worry about, running riot over any of the more traditional types on the island that insisted she and Merle formalize their relationship.  He figures if she changes her mind, they’ll get married.  It’s pretty simple between them.</p><p>But neither of them are closet romantics, like his baby brother, who is eyeing the pretty little ring with its twist style band set with a good sized aquamarine between two small diamonds.  It’ll be a striking contrast against Michonne’s dark skin, Merle thinks.</p><p>“It’s not a regular engagement ring.  Feels stupid, with the world ending, to do the engagement ring stuff, but she deserves to have that.  Never had it before,” Daryl murmurs.</p><p>“Personally, Daryl, I think she’d prefer that you picked a ring with your birthstone instead of just a random diamond that happened to look pretty.”</p><p>His brother gives him a relieved smile.  “You think so?  Read in some book that its name means seawater, and that sure seems appropriate living on an island.  Plus happiness in marriage.”</p><p>That sort of background always intrigued Daryl, so Merle’s not surprised that there’s more thought to it than just it’s the March birthstone.  His brother might have turned forty-six back in March, but honestly, Merle thinks he’ll always be young at heart, captured by the curiosity he could never indulge as a kid.</p><p>“I think that if I don’t see it on her finger by the end of the month, I’ll ruin your surprise,” Merle tells him, smirking.  Considering he pushed Daryl once, to get him past his hesitation where Michonne is concerned, he has no problem doing it again.</p><p>Daryl laughs, not offended at all, before putting the ring back in the pouch and hiding it away again in his pocket.  He goes off to find Michonne and the kids, leaving Merle to return to his admiration of sweet little Marisol.  </p><p>By the time Marisol is twelve hours old, they’re back at home.  Princess’s near phobia of the infirmary’s hospital seeming surroundings wasn’t going to be good for mother or daughter, so Denise packed them off home with instructions to alert her if there are any emergencies.  Merle doesn’t expect any, as both his ladies have rebounded from their little ordeal with seeming ease.</p><p>Still, once Princess is asleep, rightfully tired by bringing their baby into the world, he’s a little glad when Marisol doesn’t seem to go right to sleep.  He takes her on a walk around the house, just a little tour of the nice home she’s going to grow up in if he has anything to say about it.  Her dark hair is covered by a little knit cap despite the heat, something Daryl found for her that makes her look like a lamb, complete with little floppy ears.  It even has a matching onesie with little sheep leaping all over.</p><p>“You know, sweetheart, I can’t promise I’m gonna get all this fatherhood stuff right.  I didn’t do the best job with your Uncle Daryl, but he’s a good man despite me messing up.  So I figure if I’m trying that much harder now, then maybe you’ll have the kind of life that me and your mama didn’t have growing up.  Cousins to play with, adventures to go on.”</p><p>The moon is fading from where it was full two days ago, but it still sends plenty of light into the living room as Merle pauses to look out at the river.  “There’s a lot of dead things out there that make it dangerous for people like us, and I sure as hell hate that you won’t know a world without them unless something changes really drastically.”</p><p>Marisol yawns, squawking in protest at the motion, making him laugh as he soothes her.  “Yeah, that’s a boring thing.  The world is what it is, and accepting that is a skill I hope I pass on to you.  None of the rest of the stupidity I managed, but that one, that’s good. I’m your daddy, and I love you and your mama.  She’s promised that she won’t let me forget to tell you that every day.  When you get older, you can make sure I do the same for your mama.”</p><p>He catches a glimpse of his reflection, distorted in the glass, and seeing that he looks more grandfather than father, he sighs.  “I don’t know that I’ll see you grow up, baby girl.  That stupid stuff I mentioned?  It’s not the kind of thing that makes a man live to a ripe old age.  But everything I do from now on, whether I get one year or twenty with you, it’s gonna be so that you can tell your own kids that you were proud to have me.”</p><p>Pressing a kiss to her silky soft cheek as she drifts to sleep, Merle carries Marisol to the bedroom, settling her into the little bedside sleeper that Lori passed on to Princess when Judy outgrew it.  Crawling into bed, he spoons himself against Princess’s back, glad it allows him to glimpse their sleeping daughter as well.</p><p>Merle can do better now.  He <i>will</i> do better now.  Because one day, twenty or thirty years from now, his daughter is going to have a child of her own, and he meant what he told Marisol.  The legacy of abuse, neglect, and rage ends with her.  His arm tightens around Princess a little too much, and she stirs, smiling at him softly.</p><p>“You okay?  Marisol?” she asks, turning her head to see the sleeping baby.</p><p>“Yeah.  I’m better than I’ve ever been, sunshine.  Go back to sleep.”  He gives her the kiss she tugs him down for with a gentle hand to the nape of his neck.  “Love you.”</p><p>“Love you, too, Merle.  She’s not gonna disappear if you sleep, you know.”</p><p>He swallows hard.  “I know.  But…”</p><p>Princess smiles, that sweet expression that makes his heart ache in the way he took so long to understand meant he was in love with her.  “You’re gonna be a good daddy.  She’s gonna love being your best girl.”</p><p>“Gonna be busy, having two best girls.”</p><p>It makes Princess laugh, and she does fall back asleep, leaving him to watch over them both.</p><p>Merle hadn’t been fully prepared for just how deep an impact holding Marisol for the first time would be, but the ache inside him is a mix of love and regret.  Regret that he found his little family so late in life that he can almost feel a time limit in the back of his mind on how long he has with them, but love, because this is what he’s been missing all his life.  Not being able to love Daryl unconditionally nearly destroyed his relationship with his baby brother, and he can only thank some unknown power that Daryl’s smarter than he was about family.</p><p>That old life, the one where he couldn’t find his place in the world and raged his way through with a death wish that wasn’t always a subconscious one, it’s dead and gone.  This new one?  That’s the one he’s going to hang on and live with all that prior determination to destroy himself, because he has so much to teach his daughter.</p><p>Maybe he’s older than he should be.  Maybe he won’t see her even take her first steps or go on her first hunt, but for every single day he does get at her side, at Princess’s?  He’s going to make them count.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The last Daryl/Michonne chapter just seemed like the perfect ending for them... they have a good future ahead, without any rushing.  I did allow a sneak peek with the Daryl &amp; Merle moment, just so their fans know he's not going to make her wait forever for that wedding.  ;)  <i>(Besides, I'm still a little peeved at TVShow!Daryl for that epically stupid S10E18 'Find Me' episode.  I might accidentally set this poor Daryl's balls on fire in retaliation...)</i></p><p>But out of the four major characters, Merle had the most growth to make, so it just felt right to let him close out the story.  More than the other three, he really and truly has to separate his old life from the new to become a better man.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>